Dawn
by Monnie Geller
Summary: AU The sun has risen over a new life, and all they have with them is their will to survive. Epilogue Up!
1. Prologue

Dawn

by Monnie

[ disclaimer: they're not mine, okay?! no matter HOW much I tell them that it was ME who came UP with the concept, they STILL refuse to see the napkin.  GOD! When will they learn?! ]

_Okay, sooo... this is not your average fanfic.  I'm going to end up touching on some very sensitive subjects for some people, so this might not be appropriate for the little ones, or the easily offended.  I apologize if you don't consider yourself one of those people, and then you are offended anyway.  It was your own fault for deciding to read it in the first place.  Okay, that probably didn't help much with the "getting you to read it" part, huh? All right, fine. *huff* Either way, just review, and tell me if you think that it's something you'd want to see continued, because I'm trying something completely different, and I want to know if I'm any good at it :p_

_This takes place in __Poland__ during the 1940's.  It's obviously an AU fic, but I think it's gonna be good.  Good luck, and Godspeed. Xx_

====

**Prologue**

"Open up!" A harsh, cold voice shattered the silence that had formed in the darkness, slightly muffled in its fury.  There was a dull thud, a rumble, and then the unmistakable shriek of rusted metal grinding against rusted metal.  Suddenly, there was light.

The silhouette of a man appeared, his hands on his hips, thoroughly disappointed with the scene before him.  He shook his head, and yelled, "OUT!"

Out of the darkness came nearly a hundred people, each of them with dark hair, pale skin, and dark cloaks with bright yellow stars pinned to them.  Some of them carried bags; others carried children.  All of them looked frightened.  One particular woman clasped hands with the man standing next to her, and he put his arms around her, holding her head to his chest.  She sobbed silently, and the angry man who had let them out noticed.  He took several steps towards them, and pulled the woman away, shoving her to the side.  He grabbed the man by the collar of his cloak, and mumbled something that no one could understand.  After the young man was released, he whimpered, and ran over to a group of people who stood on the right side of the open area.

In between the groups on the right and left side, stood another dark, mysterious man.  He was pointing side to side, separating the people who had come off of the rusty boxcar.  Among those people, were the Gellers.

The pointing man was getting closer to the Geller family, and Jack, the father, drew his wife, Judy, closer, fearing the worst: separation from their children.  Monica, the youngest, but no younger than twenty, took a step closer to her husband, Michael, and tried not to grab his hand.  She didn't want to end up like the other woman, separated from her loved ones.  And she certainly didn't want her parents to leave her.  She didn't know what was going on, but she knew it couldn't have been good.  The tallest of the family, was Monica's older brother, Ross.  He took a step in front of his sister, as if being out of sight would protect her.  He knew, somewhere, though, that it wouldn't.  Not now, anyway.

The Gellers watched as families were separated, one by one, and the man pointed back and forth, back and forth.  Then, a new man approached them, with a small clipboard in hand.

"Age." He commanded in butchered Polish, staring down at Judy and Jack.  

Jack responded.  "Fifty three."

"Occupation?"

"Shopkeeper."

"Let me see your hands," he ordered, and Jack complied.  Jack's hands were pale and smooth; he was only a clerk.  He sent him to the right with the others.  Monica prayed the family would still be together.

"Age?" The man asked Judy.

"Fifty one."

"Very well." He pointed to the right, without asking any further questions.  

'So far, so good,' Monica thought.  The man turned to Ross.

"Age?" He repeated again.

"Twenty three."

"Occupation?"

"Road construction worker."

"Are you sick?"

"No." Ross said, simply.

"Good.  Hands." Ross stuck out his hands quickly, and the man examined them.  He then pointed to the left, and Monica could feel her heart sink.  

Separated.

"You. Age?" He asked of Monica.

She responded quietly, "Twenty one."

"Occupation?"

"Seamstress."

"Hands."

Monica already had them out.  He grabbed them, a bit harsher than he had the others, and looked them over thoroughly.  She had rough hands, from being pricked with needles all the time.  It had finally paid off.  Left she went, relieved that at least her brother was with her.

When she arrived at the left hand side of the selection area, she found Ross, and clung to him, trying desperately not to cry.  Both of them turned around, looking back at the boxcar, where the man was talking to Michael.  After a few moments, Michael began to walk down towards them, and Monica relaxed, happy to be with her husband still.

An eternity passed, as the others were sorted, and placed into groups.  Monica finally ended up noticing that the women with children, and the elderly, the weak, and the sick, were all placed to the right, and the younger and healthier people were sent to the left.  Yet another man appeared, carrying a wooden ladder, and he placed it on the back of a goods truck.  He ordered the right group to climb onto it, and they were all crammed into the flatbed.  Monica watched in anguish, as her mother looked back at her one last time, before the truck drove off into the distance.

She never saw her parents again.

The left group of people were lined up, and then separated further.  Left, right, left, right... man, woman, man, woman... and Monica was alone once more.  The women were lined up in a row, next to the men, and the dark, mysterious people began to march everyone forward.  The group moved slowly, as most felt unable to walk.  And they moved, inch by inch, down an endless road.  None of them knew where they were going, but they all knew that it wasn't going to be easy to survive.  That a fighting spirit was the one thing you needed.

A camp appeared out of the dusty fog.  Rows and rows of huge, brick buildings, and wooden barracks.  A tall, black wire fence surrounded it, closing it off to the rest of reality.  It was its own little hell.  And then, one by one, the men and women marched under a menacing black arch, with huge, weathered letters written above it that read, '_Arbeit__ Macht Frei'._

Work Means Freedom.

====


	2. The Procedure

Dawn

by Monnie

_I was surprised by how much enthusiasm I got from this first chapter.  I'm really glad that you guys are interested in seeing where this is going.  I also remembered one person who reviewed, who mentioned the exact thing I was hoping you guys would grasp from this: People need to be informed about the Holocaust.  That was the biggest reason I started this fic, because I wanted to convey the message in a way that you all could connect with, and it makes me so glad to know that you all are catching on to that.  Thank you.  In answer to some of the other questions, the other characters will be arriving shortly.  However, can you guys do me a teensy weensy favour? I was going to change a couple of the character's names, to fit in more with the time period, and their nationality, but, it is SO confusing, so... can we just pretend that their real names don't really matter? Great! I knew I could count on you guys!_

_MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANUKKAH, and a SPIFFY-KEEN NEW YEAR! Oh, and Happy Thursday to the rest of you. xx_

====

**Chapter One – The Procedure**

Monica Geller, left alone, and marched towards the women's camp, shivered in the damp air of Auschwitz, her new home.  If she could call it home.

She looked around her, as two Nazis, the 'SS', as her father had called them, pushed the rest of the group onto the rickety wagon.  The weak engine started, and she and the rest of the girls shook as the truck took off into the fog.  Monica coughed loudly, and someone hit her in the arm.  She flinched, and glanced at the person next to her.  A woman, not too much older than Monica herself, had her finger pressed to her lips; her eyes wide with fear.  Monica nodded slightly, and tightened her cloak around her.

The rest of the trip was in silence.

When Monica finally realized she had been drifting off, she found her surroundings to be completely different.  The truck had traveled towards a wide, dull gray building, with a huge wooden door on the front of it.  A question masked her expression, and she quickly realized that she was not the only one who wore it.  Monica shifted in her seat, and waited until the truck had completely stopped before she dared to exhale.  An SS officer jumped off the front of it, and pulled open the flatbed, ordering the women off.  He spoke in harsh German, but it was clear enough that he wanted everyone to enter the building.  All the occupants of the truck were marched inside, then lined up, in no particular order.  Another man, not an SS, but a doctor of some sort, came out of a small room in the back.  He walked past every person, quickly looking over each, before standing in front of the group, and clearing his throat.  No one dared to speak.

"Now then," he said, with a terrible Polish accent, "we must continue the procedure.  Remove your clothes for further inspection."

Whispers echoed around the room, multiplied because of the emptiness of the building.  The doctor's brow furrowed.

"SILENCE!" He commanded.  The room became so.  He continued, "Now then.  You will comply with the proper procedures, or will be executed on the spot."

An SS officer stepped forward, and cocked his gun.  There were gasps and opened mouths, and one woman shrieked and jumped back.  Monica held herself still, and willed herself not to be afraid.  There was nothing she could do wrong, as long as she kept quiet and rigid.  The women began to remove their clothes; Monica did the same, keeping silent, as she said she would.  On the outside, she was unfeeling, on the inside... she couldn't have been more humiliated.  There she was, standing in front of dozens of other women, and several snickering men, revealing to them something she'd kept sacred between she and her husband.

'Michael...' she thought to herself, then willed herself not to think about him. Several women sobbed, clutching their clothes to themselves, and covering their faces.

"Good," the doctor said, holding back another snicker. He whistled sharply, and another man came out from the back room.  "This is our barber.  He will be taking care of the next step of the admittance process."

Many of the girls shivered as 'The Barber' walked past them.  He was short, grim, and quite revolting, and he carried a small razor in his hand.  He smiled menacingly, before approaching the first woman in line.  He then proceeded to remove all of the hair on her head and body, leaving her completely and totally naked.  An SS officer took her clothes and belongings from her, as the barber moved on to the next, and the woman sat on the cold stone floor to cry.  Monica took a look around her.  She was the last one in line.  The one who kept her hair the longest.  Did they think that thought was supposed to be comforting?

She looked at the woman to her left.  She had long, golden brown hair.  It would have been quite beautiful, if she'd been permitted to wash it on the trip over.  It was such a shame to see those gorgeous locks going to waste.  A moment before Monica was going to turn away, the woman glanced over, and caught Monica's eye.  She smiled weakly, and Monica returned the gesture.  Their gaze remained locked for a few moments, and Monica took in the look in her eyes.  It was so frightened, so devastated, so humiliated, and yet, she still seemed to have hope.  Somewhere, deep in her soul, she thought she was going to live.  Out of no thought process whatsoever, Monica reached out, and took her hand.  The woman squeezed it, just a little bit, but their eyes remained still. She had silently found a friend.

The barber moved further and further down the line.  More women were finding themselves on the floor in tears; their homes, their families, and now their dignity lost on the tip of a blade.  Monica closed her eyes, when she let go of the woman's hand, keeping her in her mind. Her pretty hair. Her friendly face.

Those hopeful eyes.

Snip, snip.

There went her pride.

==

The women were all given tattoos on their lower arms, branded like cattle, with numbers.  That's all they were now.  Just a number.  The were then disinfected with a cold, lotion-like liquid, then given identical clothes, each with a yellow triangle on the breast.  Marched back out into the truck, the women dried their tears, and waited for their next instruction.  None came.  The engine started once again, and they were sent back to camp.  

Silence.

Upon reentry into the camp, women were then sorted into block barracks, with wooden beds and straw to sleep on.  Monica found an unoccupied space in the corner of the room, next to several weary looking women, and tried to lay in it.  There was barely enough space to lay comfortably, so she took it to herself to use her space only for sleeping.  She sat on the floor, silently, and watched as her inmates tried to settle themselves in.  Nightfall was approaching, so many of the people already living in the same block were returning from work.  They looked exhausted, and most of them were thin as bones.  They habitually changed into their nightclothes in front of the group, much to the surprise of the new arrivals, and some climbed into bed, while others socialized quietly.

As Monica was deciding what she would do next, a small woman sat down on the floor next to her.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," Monica whispered back.  She took a good look at her; it was the golden-haired girl.  Her face broke out into a smile, and she stuck her hand out.  "I'm Monica."

"Rachel," she responded, shaking Monica's outstretched fingers lightly.  They exchanged another look, before turning back to a comfortable silence, merely enjoying the other's company.  "It's good to have someone, isn't it?" Rachel asked, after a while.

Monica nodded. "Mmhmm."

"So, are you Jewish?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I'm not actually Jewish.  Three of my grandparents were, and that's why they sent me here.  I was just wondering if they did the same."

"No, I'm Jewish." She paused. "So, you don't actually practice the religion?"

"No, never did.  No one in my family is, but the Germans don't seem to care."

"Oh, it's not the Germans," someone piped up from above the chatting girls.  Rachel and Monica looked up into the dark eyes of another woman.  She hopped down, and sat down in front of them, crossing her legs in front of her, "it's the Nazis."

"Yeah," Monica agreed, lost in thought.

"I'm Phoebe, by the way." The strange girl said, yawning, "I know who you are."

"You do?" Monica raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've been listening."

"Oh."

"Well, not the whole time.  You guys seem pretty nice, and it's bad luck not to have a friend around these parts."

"Why?" Rachel asked.  This person was frightfully positive for someone so weathered-looking.

"Because, you gotta have something to live for, don't ya?"

"I suppose."

"C'mon.  I'm sure you all lost someone in this whole mess.  It's better to have someone who understands, to help you through it all."

"You're right." Monica said, nodding.  She appreciated her kindness.

"Hey, I tell you what." Phoebe sat back on her hands, "I'll help you guys with the tricks of the trade round these parts, and in return, when I'm stuck in trouble, you'll come to my rescue. Sound good?"

Monica and Rachel exchanged looks.  

"You've got yourself a deal." 

====


	3. Phoebe's Story

Dawn

by Monnie

_Well, I think that was the quickest update I've ever done. Consider it a gift, but I promise, I won't let it happen again ;) Okay, here's the deal.  I'm thinkin', I do more frequent updates, but the chapters aren't going to be as long as in my other fics.  That's it.  That is the **new plan. "I'm just gonna go on the date! That is the new plan!" Ahh, Rachel, you're such a dork.  But you remind me of my friend Rachael, so I forgive you. For now, anyway...**_

_Can you guys believe the show is almost over? I can't.  Okay, that's reaaalllyyy not important.  I guess I'm just reassuring you guys that I'm not serious and depressing all the time.  I promise.  Read my author's notes in my other fics.  It's scary, man.  Or, y'know, you could actually READ the fics.  Ohh, you could review THOSE too.  That would make my day.  Or my week.  Hell, you'd make my year.  So, c'mon, spread some holiday joy, go read my other stories, and leave a review.  Consider it your gift to me.  I mean, guys, I gave you a quick update on this one, you owe me SOMETHING, don't you? Okay, **shut up**, Monnie..._

====

**Chapter Two - Phoebe's Story**

"That's all we get?" Rachel asked, dropping her spoon back into the tiny bowl of thin vegetable broth.

"Yeah," Phoebe whispered, taking another bite.  She swallowed it gratefully, and bit a small piece off of the bread she'd been given. "It's not much, but it's better than some of the other camps."

"There are other camps?" She was bewildered.

Phoebe shot her a look. "Yeah! Don't you know anything?"

Rachel stared intently at her soup, and Monica placed a hand on her back, stroking her soothingly.

"I don't know anything about this place.  I don't even know why they sent me here," she whispered, sniffling quietly.

"I thought you said it was because you had three Jewish grandparents?" Monica asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, I know THAT." She sighed. "I mean, why did they send us here? Why only us? Why not – all Poles?"

"Oh, that's simple." Phoebe scooted closer, and glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.  "It's Hitler," she whispered.

"Hitler is doing this?"

"Yeah.  Him and his 'Final Solution'.  He was looking for a way to get Germany out of trouble, so he blamed it on us Jews.  Now, we have to pay for it."

"That's so unfair!" Rachel said, a bit too loudly, and she banged her fist on the table, before realizing what she'd done.  She gasped, and put a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

"You there!" An SS officer called from across the room, "You three! Your meal is over now! Get back to your cabins!" He barked, and Rachel's face fell.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Monica and Phoebe, as the three of them stood up, and headed out of the food block, their heads hanging.  Officers glared at them as they went.  The girls didn't dare to breathe until they had reached the safety of the grounds.  Even there, speaking too loudly could cost them their life, but it was less likely that they'd get caught, when they were concealed by the thin fog of dusk.

"Okay, look, you guys," Phoebe whispered, as the girls moved even quicker across the cold ground.  The jagged rocks and solid dirt stung their bare feet, but they kept going, determined to reach 'home' unscathed. "There are a couple unwritten rules you have to understand about Auschwitz," she continued, "number one, is never to draw attention to yourself.  If you blend in with the crowd, the officers won't learn your face, and you'll be less likely to be chosen for a 'trip'."

"A trip?" Rachel whispered.

"Yeah, in other words --" she slid her index finger across her neck, and made a choking sound, indicating that they were killed.  Both Monica and Rachel instinctively closed their hands around their own throats in horror, and Phoebe shook her head. "Eh, it's just as well.  Anyone who'll believe an SS when he says that they're 'going on a trip', deserves to die, anyway.  Saves more room for the rest of us, eh?" She smiled wryly.

Monica stopped in her tracks.  "Phoebe! That's disgusting!"

"What? I was just joking around!"

"That's not something to joke about," she said, sternly, and put her hands on her hips.  Phoebe sobered.

"You're right.  I'm sorry." She shook her head again, and they continued walking, as the front line barracks came back into view.  They found the appropriate one, and entered.  The block was completely abandoned; everyone was at dinner. 

"Guess we have the place to ourselves," Monica said, smiling weakly at the others, and Phoebe nodded.

"For almost an hour, actually.  We only got about two minutes of mealtime."

"I'm sorry!" Rachel said, loudly, and threw her hands up. The other girls shushed her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth again, as her cheeks flushed pink. "Oops."

The three women found their own piece of floor in the corner of the block, near their 'beds', and made themselves comfortable.

"Mind you, we're not going to be this fortunate all the time." Phoebe said, knowingly.

"What do you mean?" Monica asked.

"I mean, Rachel's not going to get off so easily, the next time she speaks up like that.  And we're not going to have this much free time in the evenings.  It's not fun and games here at the camp."

"I still don't get it." Rachel said, leaning back against the wooden sleeping berths behind her.

"What?" 

"Why we're here! It's all so surreal."

"I know what you mean.  When I first came here, it was all a complete blur.  I didn't really realize what had happened to me until it had already happened."

"What DID happen to you, Pheebs?" Monica inquired, pulling her legs close to herself, and resting her chin on her knees.

"Well, it was about four months ago.  My mother, my sister and I were taken straight out of our homes and sent to the Auschwitz Women's Camp."

"What about your father?" asked Rachel.

"Dunno.  I never heard from him since then.  They sent him to the men's camp.  I've heard it's a million times worse over there, so, I'm guessing he's probably dead by now. You know, a lot of those guys don't survive more than a week or so over there."

Monica's breath caught in her throat.

Rachel, on the other hand, was appalled. "Phoebe, how can you talk about your father's death so casually?"

"I'm not.  I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I'll probably never see him again."

"That's awful..." Her voice trailed off.

"I know, it is.  But it's the life we have to live with, now."

"Well, what about your mother, your sister, or whoever?"

"Oh, my family? They're gone, too.  See, my Mom couldn't bear losing my father, and on top of everything else, she couldn't take care of herself, and she was going absolutely crazy.  She committed suicide almost a month after we got to the camp. Ran out to the edge of the confinement, and threw herself into the electrical fence."

"Oh man...that's – that's --"

"I know it is. " Phoebe's face grew solemn, and Monica found her voice again.

"Michael..." she whispered.

"What?"

"My husband, Michael.  He's – he's in the men's camp." Monica closed her eyes, and pictured his face.  It was more than she could handle.  She pushed it from her mind.

Rachel looked up. "You're married?" 

"Yeah.  For almost a year."

"I'm so sorry, Mon." Rachel took her hand, and Phoebe, not knowing how to comfort her, patted her on the head, and sat awkwardly, waiting for the moment to pass.

"Oh, Phoebe?" Monica remembered something.

The young girl's thoughts snapped back to Earth. "Hmm?"

"You said you had a sister."

"Yes. I did."

"What happened to her?"

"It was – it was this Doctor.  Doctor – um – Doctor Mengele, I think.  He was this creepy old man, and he inspected my sister and me when we came into the camp.  Ursula and I, we were twins, you know.  Identical twins.  He, after we were admitted into the camp, he called us out one morning.  Out to his office." Monica's hand sought Phoebe's.

"He – he told us to lie down on the table," she continued, "and he stripped us of our clothes, telling us that he was just doing a little test.  He found syringes, and injected Ursula and me with different substances.  I remember, I felt really woozy, and really sick.  Ursula was coughing up blood.  Doctor Mengele started talking in rapid German to an SS officer, and the SS told me in terrible Polish that 'the pain would go away'.  Unfortunately, if the pain went away, it probably meant that I'd die.  So, I kept up the pain.  I made sure I could still feel it, and I took Ursula's hand.  She was crying, and coughing, and I stood there, next to her.  It was like a nightmare come true." Phoebe drew in a shuddering breath; she had been holding this in too long.  "I stood there, next to her, for almost an hour, watching her.  I would've died in her place, I would've taken on her pain.  But instead, I was the one who got to sit there and watch her suffer.  I remember – I remember – she tightened her hand around me.  She looked into my eyes, as Doctor Mengele came around me, muttering something I couldn't understand.  There was a sharp pain in my side.  I think the doctor injected me with something else – but I still remember Ursula's eyes.  She was dead inside already.  She turned her head, and coughed up even more blood, before her other hand came around, to rest on top of mine.  And I remember the last thing she ever said.  Even while she was dying on a cold, hard table, lying there, coughing, suffering, holding on to me, she summoned up her last bit of strength, to speak to me.  You know what she said?  'Show someone the love you've shown me'. And dammit, I'm going to." Phoebe shut her eyes stubbornly, leaning back against the wooden beds, her tears finally falling.

"Oh my god..." Rachel whispered.  

Monica shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, if he even exists."

====


	4. A New Schutzstaffel

Dawn

by Monnie

_Omigod. You people are the coolest. Thanks a million for all the reviews, especially to **Melanie Geller, who is one smart crayon.  That didn't work right... okay, anyway, Mel, girl, you made me smile so hard my face hurt, and you figured out my secret plan. You get a cookie ;) Another note goes to ****Annie O Mouse – you mentioned the different backgrounds of people in the camps.  I did know that there were other populations included in **__Auschwitz__, and I looked into it, actually, because I thought about making Phoebe and Rachel Romas (Gypsies), but in my research, I found out that the Jews were placed all in their own separate camp from the others.  But thank you for the helpful information; it was really thoughtful of you :) _

_As far as this chapter's concerned, well, if I played this out right, the other characters should be coming in soon.  Read onward! Thanks again for the reviews, could we have a repeat of that this time around? Pwease? HAPPY NEW YEAR! xx_

_PS – Yen, dear, __Orlando__ Bloom is not "fine". He's "fiiiiiiiiine". Just thought I'd clear that up ;)_

====

**Chapter Three – A New Schutzstaffel**

"Move it!" The SS officer called across the campground at the two girls who had fallen over in the mud, shaking under the weight of the crates they were carrying.  He hit them both over the head with his cane, and one of them screamed, receiving another blow.  She whimpered again, and he swore loudly, before turning around and continuing his rounds.  Meanwhile, across the grounds, three women hunched themselves over, hoisting up their fourth crate of ammunition, and attempted to blend back in with the crowd of people.  

"Shhh, keep your head down," Phoebe whispered, and Rachel obeyed, frightened as ever.  Monica smiled grimly, and her face contorted as her knees tried to buckle under the mass of metal.  She fought against it, and reestablished a base under her bare feet, slipping and sliding in the mud.

The rain poured down harder than ever, but they persevered, squinting through the fog to find their destination: a shabby, broken down goods truck.  Rachel shivered in the cold, damp air, and shook her head, the water on her bare scalp flying in every direction.  Work was becoming increasingly difficult for her, because of how little food she'd been eating, and she closed her eyes in the hazy dusk that had settled in, resurfacing the smiling face of her first friend. Monica Geller had cared for her, before she even knew her friend's name.  She had held Rachel's hand, when Rachel was feeling the most scared, yet didn't say a word.  Even now, after they had become friends, Rachel was still astonished at how much love that woman had.  It was as if she radiated strength and kindness, the two things Rachel herself had tried to find within her own consciousness.

==

"You up?"

Rachel Green opened her eyes again, and found herself looking up into the caring face of the one she'd been thinking about.  She blinked several times, and attempted to shift her weight, only to find herself positioned in her small bed in such a way that weight wasn't to be shifted without causing distress to the rest of her bunkmates.  She yawned, and rolled over, nearly falling out of her sleeping berth, and tried to look Monica in the eye.

"Huh?" Rachel drawled, still half asleep.

"You have to hurry, Rach! The SS will be here any minute! It's time for roll call! You don't wanna get deported, do you?"

"De-deported?" Rachel mumbled again, and Monica tapped her on the nose.

"Just get up, Phoebe will explain later. C'mon! It's four o'clock! Time for Bettenbau!"

Rachel stood up, unaware of what was going on. "Bettenbau?"

"Shh! It's the procedure for making your bed!" Phoebe hissed, approaching them, and demonstrating.  She pulled the tattered blanket taut against the straw of her bed, and instructed the other two to do the same.  They complied, keeping their berths perpendicular and militant.  Several SS officers came storming into their barracks, their faces cold and unfeeling, and poked and prodded around the block, examining every bed and bunk.  When the search had finished, they left without another word, and muffled German could be heard from outside the cabin.

"We must've passed," Monica whispered to Rachel out of the corner of her mouth, her body staying rigid.  A whistle blew, ringing across the grounds, and all the inhabitants of the shabby cabin scrambled to get outside, their nightclothes barely covering their sticklike figures.  Mouth agape, Rachel found herself being pushed out of the door by Phoebe, whose face was frightened and unsure.  Monica was close behind, and the three of them jumped into line with the other inmates, standing at attention, as several SS officers circled them, observing their every move.  Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to take her to a happier place, and her hands clenched into fists as she found her thoughts taking her eyes to the place of her sister's death, and her fist to the jaw of the man who killed her.  The next thing she heard was the sound of a man shouting in a language she didn't understand.  Her eyes snapped open, and she remembered where she was.  She was no longer in a cold, empty room, but outside, in formation, where Monica and Rachel were standing, eyes wide, waiting for her to instruct them silently.  She blinked, and glanced over at them, putting her finger to her lips.  They nodded slightly, and looked forward, as an SS officer took broader strides around the congregation of women.

A large SS suddenly made his presence known, approaching the trembling group with a clipboard in hand.  He read down a list, addressing each and every number, seeing that each individual person was present.  The prisoners unable to respond when their number was called, were immediately beaten with a cane, and sent with another officer to a caravan of goods trucks.  There they were loaded, and shipped off to places unknown.  Little did these people know that they were boarding a one way train to extermination.  Phoebe drew in a shuddering breath and licked her lips, listening intently to the shouts of the men so far away.  Monica put one foot over the other, warming her toes, and shot Rachel a worried glance.  She returned the gesture, and rocked back on her heels, her knees beginning to lock.

For a single moment, silence captured Auschwitz.

==

It was over three hours until the SS dismissed the prisoners for breakfast, and the girls sat on the kitchen's wooden bench gratefully, the lukewarm mug of bitter tea a blessing to their parched lips.  They received no food with their small rations, and they were permitted meager time to finish it.  As soon as breakfast was over, the inmates were sent to work.  Some moved boxes, some hauled wood, and others were confined to small spaces, doing pointless tasks for the busying scientists. Those were the lucky ones.  Several prisoners a day were sent to the "hospital" – only to find that they were to be the next test subjects for lethal injections.  

And the sun rose and set over the life of a victim.

==

"So, did they teach you anything about this place before you came?" The thick, German voice of a gruff old man rang in his ears, as the new recruit blinked and stared at the scene before him.

"Yes sir," he said, quietly, looking intently at his feet.  He didn't want to be here. In fact, he wanted to be anywhere but here, but now that he was...

"Well, that settles it, then. Do you have any questions?"

He shook his head. "No sir."

"Very well.  I'll show you to your cabin.  You have two bunkmates, but they're out and about much of the time.  I'm sure they'll explain anything else you need to know while you're over there."  The old man started out into the darkness of the grounds, and the younger man followed as closely as he could. "Oh, yes," the gray-haired man stopped abruptly, causing the one pursuing him to trip over his own feet in an attempt to keep his distance.  The elder continued, "you'll be working in the women's camp. I'm sure you'll find several of its inhabitants to your liking, and you can do with them as you please.  Your inmates will explain the rest.  Step lively." He added, picking up his pace again.  They arrived at a shabby old cabin after a moment of quiet travel, and the old man swung open the door to let the other in.  He shot a grim smile towards the recruit, then vanished in the fog as suddenly as he'd come.  The young man let out a heaving sigh, and collapsed on his firm mattress, wanting nothing more than for night to rescue him from his living nightmare.  He'd never thought he'd be recruited by the Schutzstaffel, especially considering his family wasn't entirely German, but nonetheless, he wasn't surprised.  All his life, he'd been waiting for something to corrupt the pleasant shell he'd enclosed himself in, and it was the "Final Solution" that had pierced its exterior.  Shutting his eyes for a brief moment, his thoughts took him to better days; the days when he could still hear his mother yelling at the butler, the days when he thought that a change in his life would be for the better.  It was only now, sitting on the cold, damp fabric that would become his bed for the rest of his conceived future, that he finally understood why the world feared change.

The cabin door swung open.

Two men entered, one of them short, with scraggly blonde hair, the other only slightly taller, with the darkest brown hair he'd ever seen on a German.  The blonde raised his eyebrow.

"You Chandler?" He asked.  

The man on the bed nodded. "Last time I checked," he scoffed.  This clearly wasn't a time for jokes, but he wasn't planning on taking these two very seriously.  The dark haired man chortled, but didn't make eye contact.

"I'm Lieutenant Maurer," the blonde said, quite loudly, his husky voice cutting through the bittersweet silence of the dank air, "but you can call me Kip.  And this is Second Lieutenant Tribbiani; Joey, to the rest of us.  We're your inmates." He jabbed his thumb at the disgruntled man behind him, who finally locked eyes with his new acquaintance.  Chandler smiled out of the corner of his mouth, and casually waved in their direction.

"Nice to meet you."

"So, d'you know much about this place?" Kip asked, sitting down on the mattress next to Chandler.  Joey silently took his place on the nearby bed, resting his head in his hands, and taking in the appearance of his bunkmates.

"I know a thing or two."

"Did Himmler tell you about the women's camp specifically?"

Chandler vaguely recalled the old man's words.  "Well, he said that I'd find some of them to my liking, and that I could –"

"'Do with them as you please'?" Kip finished.  

He nodded.  "Yeah."

"Yeah, that's what he says to all of them.  Basically, he means the womenfolk.  Like, if you see some pretty Jewess in fairly good shape, you can take her right back here and –"

"Okay, I understand," Chandler interrupted, not wanting to think about it.  Imagine, taking advantage of some woman like that!  It was unthinkable.  He'd never do such a thing, no matter how much his hormones demanded it.

"What, like you'd never do that?" Kip asked, pulling a face when Chandler flinched.

"I wouldn't," Joey said, quietly, catching the others' attention.

"You wouldn't, huh?" Kip accused, "then what do you call taking a woman back to the cabin and shutting yourself up in there all day with her, then?"

"She was sick. I was taking care of her."

Kip's eyes grew wide. "You know you're not supposed to do that. You could get us killed!"

"I don't care.  She needed my help, and I helped her.  That's all that matters to me anymore.  I don't give a flying rat's ass if Himmler doesn't approve of it.  He can come tell me himself.  I care about 'em, unlike all these other shit-for-brains officers I see abusing these innocent young girls."

"You're bluffing." Kip huffed.

"I'm not.  If I can help it, I'll see to it that each and every one of the women in my block stays healthy.  I don't want some SS comin' round here deporting MY girls."

"Your girls, huh?" Kip accused again.

"Damn straight.  I thought you'd figured that out, when you'd seen the way I acted towards them all this time.  Hell, I've even talked to some of them on a regular basis."

"That's completely illegal, Joe.  I should deport your ass right now."

"Then do it.  I don't care.  I'll find someone with a conscience to fill my shoes, just you wait." Joey challenged, as Chandler looked on, stunned.

"Well, I'm not gonna, but I am gonna tell you that you need to stop with that.  It doesn't matter if you care for 'em or not, you gotta understand that if you wanna keep your bunkmates alive, you can't be associatin' with the prisoners. Damn, man, you're gonna get us all killed one of these days.  I just don't understand your head.  You're nothing like the rest of us. Those Jewesses are nothing to me, and they should be nothing to you. You get attached to 'em, and that ain't right.  Everyone else gets it, why don't you? You call 'em 'your girls'. Well, maybe I ought a tell you that 'your girls' make a mighty fine fuck now and then."

"Don't you EVER say that again."

With each second he sat there, Chandler's respect for Joey grew like a kindled flame.

====


	5. Hidden Truths

Dawn

By Monnie

_Question and answer time! I love it that you guys are interested in actually learning about it. It makes me sooo happy to know that you all are being educated. Seriously. And not in the teacherly way, but in the real way. So, before you all die from a sugar overdose, or my redundancy, a couple of you asked me some questions in your reviews... **Talon3**, yes, they did wear handkerchiefs on their heads some of the time, but when things got rough enough, a handkerchief was merely a nuisance. But during indoor work and things, yes, they wanted to have something to cover their head. Secondly, **anonymous7, rape in some camps, such as Auschwitz-Birkenau, were very uncommon, however, in my research, I found some pretty gruesome details about things that some of the SS did to women – and rape, unfortunately, was one of them – in the main Auschwitz camp.  The guys apparently had really bad control over their hormones, and they got hostile if they didn't – well, you know. Thanks for taking an interest in it, both of you. It makes me feel smart ;) I must also give a great big thanks to my friend ****Jackie, who gave me the first line, so I could start this chapter. You're creative, I swear!**_

_Dedicated to **Chris and her not-so-subtle hints. You know who you are, babe ;)**_

****

_This one's for you…** xx******_

====

**Chapter Four – Hidden Truths**

The fences were high.  So high, in fact, that one could hardly see over them.  As the two Jewish boys squinted their eyes into the hidden sunlight, something squeaked.  It was a floorboard. A misplaced floorboard that made some especially bitter inmates stir.  They had to be silent.  One held his breath, and stuck his head out the door.

"Where is it?" he whispered, barely speaking.

"Right there," the other whispered back, pointing in the direction of something tiny sitting on the dusty ground.  The first man stuck his foot out, and set it silently on the ground. Another foot. Then he stepped forward. Three more steps, and he reached the object. Looking back up, the second man gave him an encouraging wave, and the first picked it up, running back.  As soon as his last foot entered the cabin, the crack of a gunshot echoed across the empty grounds, a loud thump followed, and then the breath of relief exhaling from two throats closed in horror.

==

The roll call was never ending.  Every woman had to stand at attention, waiting, listening.  They knew the work was almost over, but still there they remained.  Cold, still, their eyes glazed over.  But one woman was not.  She had her eyes shut.  She was smiling.

She was thinking of her husband.

==

The roll call lasted for hours upon hours.  Not permitted to move, each and every man had to stand with his legs locked, and his hands at his sides.  Hundreds and thousands of people so far around the camp stood this way.  They faced forward, robotic, numb.  But one man was not.  He had his eyes shut. He was smiling.

He was thinking of his wife.

"Michael!" The man next to him pinched the daydreaming captive, and snapped him back to reality.

"Hmm? Oh!" he whispered, and stepped forward, waiting to be inspected like the others.  An SS walked past him and circled him, prodding him and checking him like a toy on an assembly line. His heart pounded in his ears, and he stood as still as possible, hoping that the officer wouldn't notice the scratches on his arms.  He'd fallen that morning, when Ross, his brother-in-law, knocked into him, sending him sprawling to the ground.  Michael's star had fallen off, and Ross, being the braver one, ran out to get it.  In running back, he was fired at, as he was out before hours, and they knocked together.  Michael's yellow star had an unhealthy habit of falling off while he was working.

The SS checked him off, and Michael let out a breath.  There was no safety during inspection.  He slinked back into line, and the memories of his wife captured his mind once more.  Winter nights by the fire were gone.  Summer days at the park were gone.  Spring sunrises, autumn sunsets, when they'd sit on the top of the hill, watching the soft yellows and reds fade to embrace the whispering winds of midnight.

Those memories were gone.

But, in Michael's mind, so was she.

==

"Have you made your rounds yet?" Joey asked, walking into the cabin where Chandler lay, his arms folded and his brow furrowed.

"Not yet," he responded, his voice low.

"What's troubling you?"

Chandler sat up. "Nothing – it's – nothing.  Don't worry about it.  What block are we in charge of again?"

"Twenty-three. You, me, and Kip."

"Well, where is he?"

"Out.  I dunno where."

"That guy really makes me mad."

"Yeah…" They sat in silence for a moment, before Joey sat down by Chandler. "You sure you're okay?"

"No – I'm really not.  I don't want to be here."

"Me either, but it's a job."

"Why were you employed?"

"My parents sent me. They thought it'd be good 'discipline'. Turns out that it WAS good discipline, but it wasn't me that was receiving it."

"I know what you mean." Chandler sighed.

"Why are YOU in here?"

"My parents sent me, too.  But they didn't really want to. I mean, it seemed like it at the time, but, well, my family is entirely German. And the only son in the family that wasn't married was me.  So, naturally, when the SS came to our home…"

"Your parents picked you?" Joey asked, nodding.

"Not at first.  They were going to deny that there were any bachelors in the family, but they threatened to arrest and kill everyone in the house and all our remaining relatives if someone didn't volunteer.  And I did, because I didn't want to force my brothers to leave their wives and children."

"That was awfully noble of you."

"Not really…"

"Oh yeah! If I were you, I would've stayed quiet."

"I was so afraid of coming here, though. I almost jumped off the train that took me here."

"Me too. But, it's not so bad.  Where'd you come from?"

"Berlin."

"Huh." Joey looked thoughtful.

"What is it?"

"Kip's from there, too."

"That's – not comforting. But, oh well. Where are you from?"

"Around.  I've lived all over Europe.  I picked up a bit of Polish, German, French, and I even know a little English."

Chandler raised his eyebrows. "Wow. I've learned Polish and Welsh, but no English.  It's so complicated."

"There are a lot of rules, but lots of people are speaking it now, especially since the turn of the war."

"Yeah… I'm glad I got sent here instead of those front lines." Chandler admitted.

"You know, I found out that Kip was going to be, since he's one of the last pure Aryan descendants.  They offered him a job in Hitler's bodyguard.  He was one of the original Schutzstaffel, which is why he's in this place.  Can you believe he CHOSE to be in this dump?"

"Not at all. It's so horrible, watching these people suffer."

"He seems to like it."

"Why doesn't he work in a prison, then? At least the people there DESERVE to be treated this way."

Joey shook his head. "Chandler, when you've seen what I've seen, you'd know that not even THEY deserve to be treated like these people have."

==

"Psst – Mon!" Phoebe whispered loudly, and heard the dull creak of a footstep on wooden floors.

"Yeah?"

"Get into bed! You're going to get yourself KILLED!"

"I forgot my blanket!"

"Hurry! They're making the rounds soon!" Phoebe gestured towards her, and helped her friend into her sleeping berth, before climbing into her own.  Rachel had been fast asleep for nearly an hour, but Monica and Phoebe couldn't sleep. Something was keeping them up.  Phoebe had claimed it was a sixth sense of a horrible event about to come, but Monica was not so sure.  She refused to believe that something more terrible could happen after this.

Three SS officers poured through the front door, flashlights in hand, and swept the bright beam across every bed.  Most of the women were asleep, as they had to get up in an hour, but Phoebe and Monica merely pretended, imitating the deep breathing of dreamless slumber.  One of them came closer, shining a light directly into Monica's face.  She could resist no longer.  Opening her eyes, she looked up, a dark figure looming over her like a hawk.  The light was so bright that she couldn't see his face, but she knew he couldn't have been very old.  His walk was too energetic, too spirited.  Another officer strode by, barely looking at the sleeping women, and walked straight out with the first man.  She heard their footsteps quicken, then fade, only to be replaced with the closer, more rugged footsteps of the remaining officer.  He stopped in the corner of the room, where the three girls lay peacefully, grabbing on to the last remnants of sleep before the workday began.  Through her eyelids, Rachel had awoken and seen the light of the flashlight in her face.  She let her eyes flutter open, and she was staring back into the bright blue eyes of a genuine Aryan man.  He had vivid blonde hair, and his jaw was slightly jutted in a smile.  Although, it didn't look like a happy smile…

"Hey there, little one."  He whispered, in rough Polish, "have you been to the dentist's yet?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Well then," he continued, "let's go see him, shall we?"  He took her gently by the arm, and led her out into the dark, the air closing in around her as she found herself engulfed in the unknown.

====


	6. Trouble

Dawn****

By Monnie

_And, I'm back. And so soon, you wonder? I get bored during school these days, and you'll probably have another update after the three day weekend we got coming up here, too. Unless I make plans, which probably won't happen, considering my friends are pretty much all talk and no "do". Well, anyhoo, I found out some really cool stuff today, from my friend Meg.  Apparently, it was HER great grandfather that was the guy who exposed __Auschwitz__ to the __United States__.  They didn't even know it existed until he forgot to turn his camera off while he was flying.  How neat-o is that? I'm best friends with a girl who's related to the guy who helped end the Holocaust! Sorry, I'm just very, very excited about this.  Moving swiftly onward…there's a lot of POV switching, dialogue, choppy sentences, and repetition in this chapter, so, I'm sorry if it annoys you, or if you can't follow along. That's just too bad. ;)_

_This one's for all my fellow Mondler fans. You make me so proud to love them with you. xx_

====

**Chapter Five – Trouble**

Darkness.  Nothing but darkness.  Everything she could see was covered in an endless black ocean, the silence of the air deafening in her ears.

Thud.

Something swung open, and something cold and clammy grabbed her arm.  She gasped, but something else closed around her mouth, stifling her sounds of protest.  She was pulled forward, stumbling over her own feet, and hoisted up.  Her feet hit something cold.  It felt… metallic, almost.  She wiggled her toes.  Yes, it was definitely metal… but what was it?

Mumbling.

German mumbling.

She slid her foot forward, and hit something else.  A wall? She reached her hand out.  It was metallic also.  No, it was too thin to be a wall.  Where was she?

Slam.

She suddenly had the feeling she was now enclosed.  A cell? No, there was no draft that would reveal iron bars.  But there was someone in there with her.  SS? Yes, two of them.  She shivered, but not from the cold.  Something was wrong.

More German mumbling.  Where the hell was she? She ran her fingers down the metal.  There was a dent in it.  She heard someone move behind her, and she turned around, backing against the metal.  The mumbling stopped.

Two footsteps.

A hand caught her mouth in the darkness, and tore at her, knocking her onto her hands and knees, and turning her stomach upside-down.  He was breathing heavily.  Her shirt was torn.  Another pair of hands found her legs, and her voice refused to work.  More clothes were torn, and she knew she wasn't in a cell.

She was at the dentist's.

==

Phoebe's eyes shot open.  She reached down instinctively, and her hand came in contact with a body.  Monica rolled over.

"What is it?" She asked, groggily.

"Rachel's in trouble."

==

"Did it fall off again?"

"Yeah."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know. I can't find it."

Ross' eyes grew wide.  Michael was in trouble.

==

"Chandler?"

"Joey, get up! Kip didn't come back with us!"

Joey shot up in bed. "He didn't?!"

"Why, what is it?" Chandler asked, panicking.

"If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's gonna be in big trouble."

==

"What do you mean?"

"I dreamt it."

Monica raised her eyebrows. "Pheebs, I don't get it.  How would you know because of a dream?"

"Don't ask me! I just – I know these things.  Trust me, we need to figure out where she is."

"But, we can't!" Monica hissed, "they'll catch us!"

"At this point, I don't care.  We have to help her."

"I'm not so sure…"

Phoebe looked into her eyes through the darkness. "What have you got to lose?"

==

"I'll never find it.  We're dead."

"Well, Michael, I hate to break it to you, but YOU'RE dead."

"I know, but it reassures me to think that you'd go down with me." Michael grinned.

"Not to me, it doesn't!" Ross paused. "I still don't get it, though."

"What?"

"How do you have a sense of humor, even though all of this?"

Michael took a daring step forward. "Just lucky, I guess."

==

"Where are we going?" Chandler asked, taking three strides for Joey's one, as Joey, his hands in fists, stormed across the grounds in a rage.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find him."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, but –"

"- you're gonna find him?" Chandler finished.

"Yeah." Joey couldn't think of anything better to say, so he took a deep breath, and walked faster.

==

"Where are we going?" Monica demanded.  Phoebe was running, her eyes darting all around.

"I dunno, but we'll find her."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Not a clue, but I promise –"

"—we'll find her." Monica chorused with her.  She took a couple steps forward, and grabbed Phoebe's hand, and they fell into silence in the moonlight fading.

Dawn was approaching Auschwitz.

==

There were so many barracks.  Chandler tried to keep quiet, but his footsteps were still echoing.  There was a truck, way up ahead.  A huge, steel truck near the hospital.  Somehow, he knew Kip was in there.  Not much farther…

Wham.

==

Monica and Phoebe weren't watching the ground, they were watching the sky.  The morning was close.  They had to be quick if they wanted to make it.  Phoebe squinted into the sun…

Wham.

==

Sent flying backwards, two men and two women went crashing to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch on the cold, hard ground.  Chandler coughed loudly and sat up, rubbing the back of his head.  He looked around.  There were two girls, no older than he was, on the ground, barely conscious.  He approached one of them, kneeling down by her face, as Joey groaned and laid his head back down, surrendering to his heavy eyelids' demands.  

Admiring the woman, he noticed how delicate she was.  She had the face of a china doll, porcelain and pale.  But her limbs… God, her limbs looked as if her own weight would cause them to snap.  She'd clearly been way underfed.  He still couldn't help but look at her.  Underneath her dirty face, her stubbly black hair, and her gaunt, sleepless expression, she was beautiful.  She looked as if – as if she were glowing, somehow.  When she didn't stir, he instinctively put his hand gently beside her face.  Her skin was cold and rough, probably from the harsh winds of endless labor.  Her lips were chapped and cracked, yet still a crimson hue. Her nose, though it was slightly crooked, fit her face like a hand to a glove, and he knew, without seeing them, that her eyes were just as entrancing.  He cradled the back of her head, and pulled her close to him, rocking her, until she drew in a deep breath.  The doll's eyelids fluttered open, and Chandler immediately regretted his thoughts.  Through those eyes, those crystal blue eyes that pierced his very soul, he realized that she was not a doll at all.

This woman was his angel.

====


	7. Courage

Dawn

By Monnie

_Guess who's back for another update almost around the time she said she would? ME! How'd you guess? You're so smart. :) I don't really have anything to say about this chapter, except that it's not the happiest of occasions. Then again, it's the Holocaust, what IS?_

_This one's dedicated to Becca, who's so strong for reading this so far. In case some of you don't know, Bec is another AWESOME writer here on FF.net (also the co-owner of Mondlerifics with me) and she's Jewish, so this really hits her where it counts.  I'm proud of you, babe. You're being so great, and I love you forever, my penguin sista!_

====

**Chapter Six – Courage**

Phoebe blinked.  The world came back into focus, and she realized what the blur above her was.  She opened her mouth to scream, but something covered it.  A pair of deep brown eyes stared back at her, and she saw someone in them. There was a reflection, but the reflection didn't look right. It was that of a woman covered in dirt, with sad, grey eyes that sunk into her face.  She had no hair, but what was there was pale and sickly. Where cheeks should have been, there was nothing but colorless skin and weathering bones.  She looked like a sad, lost little rag doll. This wasn't her reflection…

Was it?

==

"Shhh, you okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

Phoebe blinked again. Who was this man, and where was Rachel? Her mouth was freed.

"I have to go," she managed to say, and tried to stand up. 

He held her firm. "No, you'll hurt yourself. Lie still." Everything was so surreal to her.  She obeyed, still in a daze, and she let her thoughts organize themselves.  "How's the other one?" the man asked, looking somewhere out of Phoebe's line of sight.

"Still slipping in and out of consciousness," someone responded.  Phoebe's thoughts clicked into place.

"Monica…" Phoebe whispered.

"Hmm?" The man's eyes darted back. The sad woman glared at her through him.

"Her name is Monica," she repeated, not understanding why she was telling him this.

"Oh. I'm Joey, you are?" He seemed pleased to hear Phoebe's voice.

"Phoebe. We-we have to find her."

"Her who?"

"Rachel."

"Where did she go?"

"Taken. Officers."

"Where?"

"Some --" Phoebe recalled her dream, squeezing her eyes shut, "someplace cold. Metal. Closed. They – they took her to the dentist's."

"What?" Joey's voice grew soft.

"Why, is that bad?"

"Mm-hmm." Another glance upward. It seemed like they were exchanging silent panicked looks.

"What's going on?" Phoebe whispered, her eyes widening in compensation.

"We need to go."

"I'm coming with you." Phoebe shot up, receiving a rush of blood to the head, her sight blacking out for a second longer than it should have.

"What?"

"Do you have a hearing problem? I said, I'm coming with you. It sounds like you know where she is.  I'm coming with you, but we have to wake Monica." She glanced over to the quiet girl, Chandler still rocking her in his arms.  Phoebe shook her gently, and she stirred, her eyes already open. "Mon? Monica, come on, we're going to Rachel."

"Ra-Rachel?" Monica was still in a daze.  She rubbed her eyes, and sat up, finally realizing that she had been rocked awake, exactly the same way she always was.  After all, the man above her couldn't have been anyone else but –

"Michael?"

"No, Monica. My name's Chandler."

"Ho-how do you know my name?" Monica scooted backwards on her hands, and bumped into someone.  She turned around, and saw another man; he had his hands on Phoebe's shoulders.  What the hell happened? Phoebe looked like she was scared.  Monica panicked, and scrambled to her feet, running as quickly as she could. She heard the crunch of gravel behind her, and she ran faster, the block she'd escaped from so long ago back in sight again.

A shot fired through the dark haze.

Something sharp hit her right below the knee, grazing her calf, and sending her down to the ground.  The rocks cut into her skin.  She could feel the pain already, yet her entire body felt numb.  Her eyes fluttered closed again.  The sounds of the crunching gravel grew louder, and she felt drugged, muffled voices above her warbling things she couldn't understand.  Someone grabbed her, and she tried to protest, but couldn't move.  Michael's voice called out to her clearly through her dreamlike perception, and not long after, she slipped out of consciousness, the face of her husband fading back into the darkness.

==

"You breathe a word, and I'll kill you myself."

Rachel nodded, and closed her eyes, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilling down her cheeks in an endless waterfall, onto the pale straw that was her bed.  That blonde man was going to be the end of her, she just knew it.

==

"Open your eyes."

Monica willed her eyelids to lift, but nothing happened.  Something was blinding her.  Pain, it seemed, had grasped rational thought.

"Uh?"

"Open your eyes, Monica."

"I – can't."

"Try. We have to get up!"

Monica pushed emotion aside, and opened her eyes, the pain in her head and her leg burning into her very essence with each passing second.  She stared up, and met two crystal grey-blue eyes with her own.

"Rachel?" she managed to mumble.

"Yeah, it's me."

Monica instantly forgot her weaknesses. "Oh, thank GOD you're safe!" She hugged the shivering girl close to her, rocking with her. Rachel suddenly broke free.

"We have to go! They're doing Bettenbau, and roll call, and if we don't hurry, we'll get sent out with the garbage!"

Monica had never made her bed faster in her life.  She and Rachel hurried out with the remaining inmates, and Monica did her best not to limp.  She was grimacing, however, as the pain was still unbearable.  Filing into line with the rest, Monica caught Phoebe's eye.  She was crying, but why?

The roll call took nearly two hours longer than usual, based on Monica's perception of the sun's position that day. When she was inspected by the SS, they checked her more thoroughly that they had the others, eyeing the scratches on her face and legs suspiciously.  After one officer had found, observed, and practically pinched her calf wound roughly, he looked her in the eye, his stare intense, yet vulnerable.  Monica supposed it was the way she herself was looking at him.

"What is that?" He sneered, pointing at her leg.  Monica looked down, and Phoebe stepped forward.

"Sir, she was –"

"SILENCE!" He barked, and Phoebe stood firm.  She was afraid of no one anymore.

"She doesn't remember! She cut her leg open on a sharp rock, I was there. She went unconscious immediately. She's fine now."

"Are you able to work?" He snapped, looking back at Monica, his expression drained of all sympathy.

"Yes."

"Very well. Half rations for breakfast today, due to your inability to stand on your own two feet."

==

"What happened this time?"

"I kept this photo of her with me.  It was the only thing I somehow managed to smuggle in here.  I just left it on my bed. I don't want it to be taken during inspection."

"I wouldn't risk it if I were you."

"I have to! It's the only thing I have to remember her by!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Look, I probably won't make it out of this place alive.  I want to be reminded of why my life had meaning."

"How is a picture of my sister going to remind you of your life?"

"Because your sister WAS my life." 

==

He turned around to enter the cabin, as Ross walked across the grounds with the others.  There, lying on the bed was his small photograph, right where he'd left it.  Walking over, he picked it up, and looked intently at it.  It was taken only a month or so after their wedding.  She was still as radiant as ever.  He'd taken it while she was sleeping, because that was when she looked the most innocent.  He wished he could have brought a photograph of her in which he could've seen her eyes, but this one was more precious.

Michael turned the photo over.  There, written in faded black calligraphy, was a note from his wife.

'I will always be with you.'

He smiled at it, and looked at the sleeping girl once more, tears forming in his eyes.

"Monica…" he whispered, and knew that somewhere, she heard him.

"She's awfully pretty." A rough voice whispered in his ear.  He turned around.  An officer was grinning at him.

"She is." Michael nodded, and looked back at the picture.

"May I see it?" He asked, and Michael handed it to him, slightly confused, but oddly proud. "Yes, she's a beauty.  Is this your wife?"

"Yes, she is."

"Hmm, what a shame." The SS handed it back.

"What do you mean?"

The officer took a step back. "Well," he croaked, "she could've done better. How could a sniveling worm like you get someone so beautiful?"

Michael smiled. "Just lucky, I guess."

Outside, the single gunshot fired in the empty cabin remained unnoticed.

====


	8. In Sickness and in Health

Dawn

By Monnie

_You'll never guess where I am, right now… detention. Weird, huh? Any of you guys who've read my journal know about my "snow-sitting" incident, and now I'm paying the consequences. But, thankfully, the guy running the whole thing doesn't even know me and my tendencies, so I'm all right, and he let me sit by the wall, where there's an electrical outlet. So, you can thank our principal for his lovely contribution to the Holocaust-Preservation Extravaganza.  _

_This chapter goes out to David (dupton), who's nothing but a sweetheart, and a kickass writer. Love you, kiddo. Keep it up. And try out that thing I said you'd be good at, I want to see the results, eh? *insert brow-smiley here* xx_

====

**Chapter Seven – In Sickness and in Health**

"I can't…it hurts too much!"

"You'll have to try!"

"I don't know if I can! I'm so dizzy…"

Monica put her hand on Rachel's forehead.  She felt relatively normal.  "What's wrong?"

"I – I don't know.  I just feel like throwing up." Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, and Monica held her hand tightly.  The rest of the cabin was starting to make their beds.

"Rachel, sweetie, I know it hurts," Monica shot a nervous glance towards the door, where footsteps were steadily approaching, "but you have to get up. Isn't your life worth the pain?" Monica immediately wanted to take those words back.  

Sometimes, she herself felt like it wasn't.

"I suppose.  Here, help me up."  

Monica reached around and grabbed Rachel's other hand, pulling her around enough, so that her feet were touching the floor.  She stood up straight, and put her hand over her eyes.

"Oy, it's so hard to see."  Her other hand flew to her stomach, and she fell to her knees.

"Rachel, what is it?!"

"My stomach, oh my stomach…it's cramping up…" Rachel fell to the floor, and curled herself up in a ball.  

The footsteps were getting closer.

"Rachel, I'll help you in a minute, right now, you HAVE to get up!" Monica was nearly in tears, she straightened Rachel's bed quickly, and wrapped her arms around the crying girl's tiny body, and together, they got her to her feet.  Rachel groaned and sniffled, but put her hands by her sides, willing her tears not to fall anymore. Three officers swept through the block, checking for anything and everything.  Three people were dragged out by the back of their clothes that morning, and never seen again. One thing ran through Monica's mind.

'What if one of them was me?'

==

Kip Maurer looked around his cabin.  It was completely empty, excepting the three beds in it.  Sitting down on the one he'd claimed as his, he thought about the deeds he'd done.  Was it shameful? Was it evil? Was it even wrong? He didn't know.  All he knew was that this was what he was supposed to be doing.  This was what he was taught.  This was what his father wanted him to do, and this was what he was going to be stuck with until the day he died.  Even if it meant that he'd hurt people who never should've been hurt in the first place.  Why did he have to, though? Couldn't he just – leave? 

No, his father would never approve of that.  He'd probably be outcast, or sent to death, even.  He had no choice.  This was his life now, no matter how many times he'd have to silently cry himself to sleep to know that he was still human.  No matter how many people –

No.  He pushed it from his mind.  He wasn't human.  He was Schutzstaffel.

They were Jews. He was German.  He was superior.  That's what his father always said.  He was part of Hitler's Bodyguard, the right hand men to the most powerful man in the world. Everything he did was right. 

Wasn't it?

Father always said Hitler was a genius.  Kip always nodded and listened to the stories he'd tell about the things that man had done.  But sometimes, something would nag at the back of his mind.  'He's a madman', that something said. 'He's a madman, and he's only doing this for himself'.  But, that something was always left to vanish with his other thoughts.  If he disagreed with father again, it meant his life. 

He pulled the faded photograph from his pocket, and unfolded it.  That woman was so beautiful.  She looked like a porcelain doll, with long eyelashes, and a pale face.  Her eyes were closed.  From what he could tell, she might've been nude under the sheets of that small bed, but that didn't matter to him.  All he wanted was for her to open her eyes.  She looked so familiar…

Would that woman miss her husband?

Kip Maurer bit his tongue, like he always had, when that voice reached his thoughts.  He bit his tongue so hard he didn't even feel the pain before he could taste the blood.  His eyes grew cold and bitter, and his face showed his anger and hatred towards every conflict he'd had between his head and his heart.  His father thought Hitler was a genius.  Everything he did was right. It was for the good of the human race.

But, Kip wasn't human.  He was Schutzstaffel.

==

He hadn't seen him all day.  They'd been working out at the other end of the men's camp, building another barracks.  Ever since he went back for that photo, Michael had never crossed Ross' mind.  But now, the gunshot he'd heard hours ago suddenly made his stomach twist itself into knots.

==

"Hey Monica?" Rachel whispered, sipping her tea.  Monica looked up from her hands.

"Hmm?"

"Um, have you ever had – um – you know…"

Monica raised an eyebrow, as Phoebe looked up in curiosity. "No, Rach, I don't…"

"You're married, right?"

"Yes, I am." Monica chose not to comment any further.

"Did you and – um –"

"Michael."

"Right. Did you and Michael ever have – er – um – I'm so nervous, what's wrong with me?" She chuckled halfheartedly, trying to sort out her emotions.

"Oh, Rach, don't worry." Monica's voice grew soft and maternal. "Are you asking me if Michael and I ever had sex?"

"Yeah."

"Oh yes, we did." She couldn't help the smile that dusted her pale lips as she remembered.

"Did it hurt?" 

Phoebe closed her eyes.  So THAT'S what it was that she –

"Only the first time. Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "No reason." She paused. "Please tell me what it was like." She smiled genuinely.

Monica laughed. "Well, it's been so long – I almost don't recall."

Phoebe decided to cut in. "Oh, well, could you try? I don't know if I'll ever be able to, myself. I've only ever done it twice." She and Rachel both took a sip of their tea simultaneously, and Monica laughed again.

"I suppose, but – I'm not giving you any details, okay?"

"Oh, all right." Phoebe rolled her eyes, and the three of them leaned in on their elbows.

"Well, have you ever been wrapped up in a warm blanket during the winter?" They nodded. "It's kind of like that.  When two people are very much in love, like Michael and I were – like Michael and I ARE – they want to celebrate it by doing the most intimate thing that two people can share. It's truly amazing, more so if you really care about the person – and, sometimes, not always, you'll get to a place where your love is just practically exploding, and you seem to have melted butter running through your veins instead of blood." Monica closed her eyes, the feeling returning somewhat, and she smiled warmly again.

"Wow." Rachel whispered, and Monica laughed.

"Indeed."

Phoebe shook her head. "It was never like that for me."

"Really?" Monica was bewildered.

"Really," she nodded, "I hope I get to have that someday."

"You will."

A bell resounded through the hall, and the prisoners rose to return to work.  Three of them had smiles on their faces, but only one of them was real.

==

"Didn't you eat lunch?"

"Yeah, but I'm really tired. Can't I take a nap or something?" 

"You lazy bum, get back up.  We have patrolling to do." Joey poked Chandler with his cane, and the recruit rolled over, falling onto the floor with a wet thud.

"Ew. This floor is disgusting." Chandler smelled it, and immediately jumped to his feet.

"It's the best we got, so, get used to it, huh?" Joey halfway smiled, making Chandler roll his eyes.  

"I don't want to have to.  I'm getting out of this place as soon as I can."

"Don't be so sure, Bing."

Chandler shot him a look. "Hey, I'm getting out of here one way or another."

"I guess you're right. Now, let's go, before I change my mind and make Kip give you kitchen duty."

==

Rachel grimaced again.  The cramps were back, and she'd only barely passed inspection during roll call today.  She'd already vomited twice before lunch.  Her knees were buckling, she felt faint and sick, but there wasn't a thing she could do.  Monica looked at her, a pained expression obvious in her clear blue eyes.  Rachel attempted a weak smile, but couldn't stop the tear from falling down her cheek in surrender.

"I love you," Monica mouthed.

"I love you, too."

And another tear fell down among the resting place of millions.

====


	9. Only Time

Dawn

By Monnie

_I suppose you're expecting me to apologize for not updating sooner. I think you guys can handle me not updating right away. Heee. I'm not a dork, I swear. Okay, well, I have the outlines finally complete for the rest of the story, so the updates *hopefully* will come sooner because I won't have as much writer's block. But that's not saying they won't. I've also been going through a lot of stuff, I'm sure some of you guys know what I'm talking about. Gotta get down to business, don't I? How long do you think this thing should draw out? I'm not exactly sure. I'm thinking either 5 more chapters or maybe 10, it depends on the general opinion or my own judgment. I dunno. Maybe I should stop rambling. It's not that interesting to anyone but me, anyway, right?_

_"I'm a bitch, I'm a tease; I'm a goddess on my knees…" There's a tin foil star to anyone who can figure out what song that's from. Yes. I said tin foil. I don't have gold. Authors don't make that much money, okay?! xx_

====

**Chapter Eight – Only Time**

_Who can say where the road goes,  
Where the day flows?  
Only time...  
And who can say if your love grows,  
As your heart chose?  
Only time...   
Who can say why your heart sighs,  
As your love flies?  
Only time...  
And who can say why your heart cries,  
When your love dies?  
Only time...   
 _

_  
_"Mon, I really think I'm sick!" Rachel hiccupped and leaned over the patch of dry grass on the side of the block nearby, vomiting again. Monica and Phoebe cringed, looking away, as Rachel helped herself back to her feet.__

"You think it's poison?" Phoebe asked, and Monica shrugged.

"I suppose. Rach?"

"Hmm?" The young girl's face was pale, with a tinge of green, and she was clutching her stomach, her knees wobbling. And yet – that physical weakness still did not look as apparent as the fear and devastation that shone from Rachel's cold, grey eyes. Monica's breathing hitched, and something in her mind clicked into place.

"Do – do you think it's poison?" Monica asked, knowing the answer.

"No, I don't think so. It only flares up once in a while."

"I see." Monica sighed, and closed her eyes.

==

"Duh – I kinda figured, but – how many?"

"How many times?"

"No, how many women?"

"Oh!" Chandler grinned weakly, and leaned back against the wall, his knees up against his chest. "Well – I, uh --"

"C'mon, you can tell me, it's no big deal."

"Oh. I always thought it was --"

"Sacred? Come ooooon." Kip entered the block, obviously listening in on the conversation.

"Well yeah. It's a big deal."

"Not really, Chandler. It's just sex." Kip sat down on his bed, and Joey looked up from his.

"Kip, how many girls have you had sex with?"

"Oh – too many." Kip smirked and Joey shook his head.

"Kip," he said, "Even _I_ know how many girls I've been with."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Joey leaned forward, challenging him.

"How many?"

"Eight." Joey grinned.

"I've had more than that."

"So I figured."

"Hey --" Chandler interrupted, "Why is this a competition? It's sex, for cryin' out loud. Just because one of you has less respect for women than the other doesn't mean you have to discuss it like a bet on a horse race."

"Fuck that, Bing. I'll bet you've screwed more women than a U-boat crew."

"Kip – shut up, man!" Joey stood up, and Kip did as well. Chandler, nervous about what would happen if things got out of hand, slinked down in his bed to secure himself.

"Why are you pushing this, Tribbiani? Sit down."

"All right, Kip, I'll sit. But only if you apologize to Chandler, _and_ tell me what your number is."

"Whatever. Sorry, Bing – don't think you've had that many opportunities." Joey rolled his eyes, and Chandler blushed and mumbled something under his breath. "What did you say?" Kip barked, and Joey stepped forward.

"'Ey! Tell me before you go interrogating him!"

"Twenty seven."

"_Twenty seven?!_" Chandler exclaimed, putting his feet on the floor, with his guard dropping just as quickly. 

"Yeah! I'm lonely up here, all right?!"

"Kip, you're fucking _married_," Joey yelled, slamming his fist against the wall, and sitting with his head in his hands.

"So? Not gonna do me much good havin' one while I'm up here. Not like I'm gonna even get outta here, anyway."

Chandler was flabbergasted. "Still, Kip – dude, why? I mean, sure, you're lonely, but why? Why not – like – I dunno, find someone you love?"

"Because, Mr. 'I'm Not Telling', unlike you, I don't care if I'm in love or not. Sex is sex. That's all. Besides, Marianne would never do it with me anyway – she kept telling me I hurt her."

"Maybe you _did_." Joey snipped.

"No! I'd never hurt Marianne. I love her."

Chandler clenched his hands into fists. "Why would you do this to someone you love, then? I mean, whether you think so or not, we all have feelings. We're all human." 

Kip let these words sink in for a moment. "Because the itch is killin' me. I gotta do it somehow."

"Kip – I've had the itch for years. I've only ever had sex with two women." Chandler then blushed furiously and fell silent. Kip stared at him.

"You serious?" He asked, and Chandler nodded. "You poor fella. I gotta get you hooked up. You know, I know this real nice lookin' girl over in block --"

"Kip!" Chandler found his voice again, while Joey's eyes darted back and forth between the two. Chandler then smiled. "I don't need to have this itch scratched, though. Not just yet."

"Why, you waiting for someone?"

==

"Yep."

"Still?" Phoebe was left slack jawed, as Monica nodded in agreement. A few seconds later, Rachel emerged from the lavatory, clutching her head and her stomach.

"There you are…" Monica put her arm around her friend as several women entered the lavatory to take their cold, two minute showers. Monica and Phoebe skipped theirs to help Rachel get to breakfast on time.

"How you holdin' up?" Phoebe asked, patting her friend's stubbly brown hair comfortingly.

"Not so good. It's so annoying, I drink hardly anything, and Pheebs, you've been so sweet to off your food to me, but no matter what, I always have to use the bathroom, and I'm always hungry."

"Hun, we're all always hungry."  
  


"Yeah, but you're not like me. I have this weird thing going on in my stomach."

"Why, do you have cramps or something?" Phoebe asked.

Rachel shifted her weight in her seat, messing her face up in irritation. "What do you mean?"

"Like, abdominal cramps. From your cycle?"

"No, I don't think so."

Monica froze. "Rachel, have you _had_ your cycle recently?"

"No, strangely. It's almost been two months. Why do you ask?"

_Who can say when the roads meet,  
That love might be,  
In your heart.  
And who can say when the day sleeps,  
If the night keeps all your heart?  
Night keeps all your heart..._

_Who knows?_

_  
Only time._

====


	10. Something's Gotta Give

Dawn

By Monnie

_I didn't expect you all to respond so accurately to that question. Oopsie. *passes out all her tin foil stars* score one for you guys._

_This one's probably disappointing for some – but at least it's an update, right? Mostly dialogue this chapter. I've had a little bit of inspiration after watching _Schindler's List_ (yes, for the first time. If you criticize me, I'll hunt you down. I mean it. I've tried for AGES to find the damn movie, and now I have. So booyah.) but I guess this is as far as it's gonna go today. Updates coming as soon as they come. Helpful, aren't I?_

====

**Chapter Nine – Something's Gotta Give**

"The Germans sound like they're going to surrender – don't you think so?"

"Nah – we've still a while to go before Hitler gives up – the Germans are a fighting type." 

Monica nodded in agreement.

"Shhh!" called Phoebe out of the darkness, weak but wise.

"What is it?" Rachel had passed new information on that she'd heard from around the camp, but Phoebe's voice stopped her.

"Don't speak so loudly about the Germans when they're so nearby."

"Why not?" Monica asked, rolling over to meet her friend's eyes.

"They'll kill you!"

"Pah! Codswallop."

"Rachel – I'm serious. These people are vicious."

Rachel frowned. "They talk about US all the time!"

"I know," Phoebe agreed, "but they can kill us easily just for the hell of it."

"I don't understand how people can just do that, though," said Monica, thoughtfully. She sighed and rolled back over to the warm spot she'd made on the bed a moment ago.

"I don't get it either," Rachel responded, "Phoebe?" she looked inquiringly at the woman across and above her.

"I suppose I don't – but I think the Nazis and the SS have somehow convinced themselves that what they're doing is for the good of the people."

"That's just suck."

"Phoebe – I don't think they're all like that." Monica stared at the wood above her dazedly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll bet a bunch of them are here and not killing anyone – just trying to help end the war as quickly as possible. Even more – I'll bet you they were forced to come here."

Phoebe sighed. "I hope you're right, Mon. For the sake of human morality, I really hope you're right."

==

"I've been what?!" Ross asked, his face lighting up.

"You've been chosen to be transferred to a new location – they want you to work in a steel mill nearby – according to the man who sent for you – you are to be taken care of."

"Really? Wow. You sure it's me?"

"Do you not want to go, reb Geller?"

"Oh, I'll go! I'll go! Don't get me wrong; I was just making sure."

"Good then. You have twenty minutes before the train leaves, reb Geller – please make haste."

"Yes sir!"

==

"BUFFAY, PHOEBE!"

"Yavol!" Phoebe put her hand up, and the SS officer scanner her quickly. The roll call was shorter than usual, and it made the workers uneasy. Several minutes went by, and Monica shifter her weight so she could whisper inconspicuously in Rachel's ear.

"Psst – Rach – you feeling all right?"

"Um – not really," she replied, "- I've cramps and my eyelids feel so heavy. This is so awful – standing out here in the cold."

"I know – I just have a feeling that something awful is going to happen."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a gut feeling, I guess. Something like what Phoebe would say. But listen to how quickly the roll call is moving – they're practically twice as far as they are normally."

"Hush, children!" Phoebe touched Monica's arm, looking at her sternly.

Rachel frowned. "Phoebe, why do you always insist on –"

"GELLER, MONICA!"

"Yavol!"

"—all of us being quiet all the time?"

"Because, I'm careful, unlike some people."

Rachel was taken aback. "Hey! You can't go blaming me!"

"She's right, you know," Monica admitted, gloomily, "our chatter will be the end of us."

"GREEN, RACHEL!"

"Yavol! I'm here!" She lowered her voice back down to say, "I suppose. Why must there always be quiet, though? You don't see anyone else being quiet."

"That's true," Monica agreed.

Phoebe shook her head. "Something will shut them up soon. I can feel it."

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION! ANYONE WHO IS ALIVE, REMOVE ALL CLOTHING IMMEDIATELY AND FORM A CIRCLE IN THE CENTER AREA! I REPEAT: ATTENTION, ATTENTION! ANYONE WHO IS ALIVE, REMOVE ALL CLOTHING IMMEDIATELY AND FORM A CIRCLE IN THE CENTER AREA!"

Phoebe never had to take back her words.

====


	11. The Game of Life

Dawn

By Monnie

_Har har! Betcha never expected such an early update! Well, guess what? Here it is! And it's all yours, baby, for the low, low price of only 799.99 plus shipping and handling! Come get YOUR update today!_

_I should get out more._

_Dedicated to Elle.__ Happy Birthday, sweetie. I love you with everything I can offer. BFFE!_

= = = =

**Chapter Ten – The Game of Life**

Phoebe slipped her shirt over her head. "Why aren't you two moving?" she asked, staring at the girls in front of her, who were frozen to the spot.

"Did he just tell us to –?"

"Yes, Rachel. He told us to undress. Now do it, before you get your head blown off."

They obeyed without another word. Monica slipped easily out of her clothes, and helped Rachel, gathering her things in front of her. She picked up Rachel's, as well, and received a grateful glance from her, before the three of them crowded together and joined the others.

Monica kept her mouth shut, but inside, she was shaking. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she found that her instinct to protect her two friends was more powerful than her instinct to protect herself.

Rachel pulled Monica towards her, hugging her tightly, and burying her face in her neck. Monica's hands, though cold, clammy, and rough, were gentle and comforting, as if she were holding a child. Rachel hiccupped and choked back tears, listening to the women who were around her, all as hysterical and frightened as she.

"I'm scared," Rachel whispered, "I'm so scared."

"I know, baby."

"What're they going to do to us?"

"I'm not sure…" Monica glanced around her. There were Schutzstaffel in every direction, and they looked like they were planning something. Monica squinted at several of them. One glanced up; her eyes met his and she suddenly felt vulnerable – even more so than she already was. His eyes were cold, penetrating, and a shiver of fear trickled slowly down her spine. She tore her eyes from his, and pulled from Rachel's arms, gathering their things once more.

A whistle blew, and all grew silent.

= =

"I don't know if I can keep this up much longer!" Monica panted, willing her legs to move. The entire camp was being checked for their health and endurance, forced to run around in circles, as people were chosen at random to be inspected closer. Though the girls had a fighting chance, their luck was thinning, as Rachel was with child, Phoebe was losing weight as well as dexterity, and Monica's bullet wound was still healing very slowly.

"Oh please, Mon – you're the strongest out of all of us."

"Well, then – I can't imagine what it's like for you, but it's hell for me." In an instant, Monica's stomach clenched in exhaustion, and she tripped forward, her clothes flying in many directions. Dropping to her knees, Rachel and Phoebe could do nothing but watch as they passed her, both frightened for their own lives and the safety of their friend. An SS Officer grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her feet, only to shove her back down again in front of a man at a table. The man glared down at her, and mumbled something in German, before the SS yanked her up again. Her head was lolling about from the force, and her cheeks and her whole face felt numb, and she didn't know why. All she wanted was some sleep. Monica wanted to sleep, in hopes that she would wake up from this nightmare.

"Hands up!" the officer commanded, and Monica obeyed, blushing furiously when the two men looked her over with disgusting leers of pleasure and amusement. This was their fun. Their game.

The Game of Life.

And from the looks of it, Monica was about to lose.

= =

Joey took a glance across the grounds and scowled. Still – nothing was improving. The wind was picking up, and the inmates were shivering as they kept running – round, and round, and round...

Suddenly, the people in the circle became the face of an old, old clock. The hour was nearly midnight, the rifles faced north, and for each time a second ticked by, a bullet pierced the air with the crack of a bull whip.

It was a metronome.

A metronome to a melody. A lonely, frightening melody.

A requiem.

One more second.

One more life.

As each woman, each man, each child reached their last second, their last breath, suddenly – they closed their eyes and gave in to their undeserved consequences. Soon, people marching round the outside of this desolate clock became a revolving trail of smoke and ash. 

He shook his head violently, his reverie vanishing, but not completely. Were all these people giving into their rewritten fate? Did they all want to follow the crowd?

Were they able to be saved?

= = 

"Yo, Bing!" Kip yelled across the grounds.

"Sir?" Chandler yelled back.

"Come over here!"

He strolled across the grounds. Kip was standing with four women. All of them were completely nude, their heads down in humiliation.

"These girls can work, right?" Kip asked.

"Sure, lieutenant."

"See?" Kip yelled in German at the guilty looking SS by one of the tables, "I told you! Perfectly healthy." He smacked one of the women on the butt with a smirk, and she trembled as he pushed them forward, gesturing for them to get back with the others. "Oh – ho, now," he said, grabbing the wrist of the smallest one, and pulling her to him harshly. "Not you. You're coming with me. We're going to the dentist." Kip smiled maliciously, and the woman looked up at him with fear. She gasped and recoiled.

Anger flooded through Chandler, and he stepped forward.

"No – let me take her, Kip."

"Huh?"

"Let me take her. She's – cute."

"So, you've changed your mind?"

"I guess."

"You can take her then." Kip led Chandler aside for a moment, and added, "Go to the truck behind block 14. It's empty, except for some towels and a couple chairs. I'll send Joey for you in two hours."

"Thank you, sir." And he turned to the woman, and met her eyes.

= =

The child pulled his hat down on his head, sitting down to take a rest.  He'd been running forever.  An SS officer had set him free without the camp's knowledge.  He wished he had found out the officer's name; that man saved his life. Looking up, the sky was darkening.  It felt like the middle of the day. But, then again, time didn't matter in that place.

The sky was much darker now – black, even. It had only been a few seconds. Were these really clouds? He stared harder. It was raining. No… it was snowing. He felt his arms. There were snowflakes on them – but it was not cold. What was this? It descended like snow, but felt like paper. He squinted. It was even darker over the camp.  Running his fingers across the top of his coat, he brushed some on his palm. It crumbled as he touched it, and he understood.

He was holding his mother in his hands.

= = = =


	12. Venomous Eyes

Dawn

By Monnie

_I've been slipping into some Evanescence phase – but I've found, like, three songs that coincidentally fit seamlessly with this storyline, and I have to include them somehow. Which reminds me, I don't own them. Or their lyrics. Blah blah blah.  I don't know what's been happening to me, with all the writer's block I've been getting with this story. I'm trying very, very hard to make sure that the image of the horrors and the pain that these people went through is captured in text alone – you can imagine how difficult it is. Or maybe you can't. Either way, that's probably why I've been so long in between updates. I had a good idea at the beginning of the story, but then plans changed to keep with context, so, at this point, a lot of it is being created as we go along. Forgive me for being slow, this is a delicate story._

_Chris, hope this one's long enough for you. ;)_

= = = =

**Chapter Eleven – Venomous Eyes (I Must Be Dreaming)**

"Work faster!" They yelled in their faces, pacing up and down the aisles of shoveling workers, pushing down the weak, and crushing them with their canes. 

Many suffered broken backs from the tips of canes, and none of them survived. They were just feed for the fire. 

There was one of the weak that did manage to keep up her strength long enough to finish the job. She had lost her voice with the cold, having to work outdoors in bare feet, and gradually losing weight made the cold harder to outsmart. The women in the unit were all deathly thin, and many of them were near fatally ill, but the thinnest of all the survivors was Phoebe. The fighter.

The Schutzstaffel signaled for the workers to stop. She dropped her shovel and vomited into the snow.

= =

Rachel took four steps forward. She had been counting her steps for several hours, looking for a way to pass the time. She was going mad, and her friends were not there to bring her sanity back. Phoebe had been taken away to work with several others, and Monica was off somewhere, probably being treated the same way.  But Rachel – she was forced to sit with twelve women she didn't know, and pace around a room, waiting to serve the master of the house nearby.

She put her hand on her belly.  There was something in there. Or, so she very much believed there was. But how could she have conceived? She had found out only a week after that incident... was he the father?

Her thoughts consumed her, and she felt faint. Her head spun, and she felt like someone was sucking the life out of her. Confused, she sat down on the floor with the others. None of them spoke. It was as if they didn't notice her presence. In fact, she was sure they didn't. 

A voice in the corner of the room – harsh, and cold, beckoned the girls to the kitchen, where they would spend the evening.  But they would never receive any of the dinner they prepared. A young woman who snuck a taste of the precious meat was taken out of the house and beaten to death. After that, not one dared to even smell the food.

= =

"This is it." Chandler opened the stiff metal doors and turned to the young girl. "Need help getting up?"

She shook her head, and stepped up into the truck. Chandler shut it, and cracked one panel open slightly, letting some light in. He offered her the chair, and she sat in it warily. He leaned up against the wall and slid down, his feet in front of him, spread eagled. He suddenly felt very aware that she was naked, and he avoided looking at her, slipping his jacket off his shoulders.

"Are you cold?" Chandler asked.

After a moment, she nodded slowly.

"You want my jacket?"

Another nod. He stood up and handed it to her, and she wrapped it around her, sivering.

"So..." Chandler began, "how are you? Are you all right? I mean, did Kip hurt you?"

She stared at him.

"Kip?" Chandler asked again, "the man I took you from? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Not a big talker, are you?"

Shrug.

"Can I at least know your name?"

She looked up and met his eyes. He knew those eyes... "Monica," she whispered, and Chandler recognized her instantly.

"God, Monica! I know you – don't you remember me? It's me! Chandler!" he gestured at himself, as if it would help the situation. "We met just outside of here. You – uh – you ran into me?"

Still no answer.

"Monica, please speak to me." He pled.

She hesitated, then whispered, "I remember."

"Oh, good." Chandler sighted, and scooted closer to her; she shifted back. He paused. "What's wrong? Did I frighten you?"

"N–no."

"Then what is it?"  
  


"It's – it's this room. It scares me."

"Oh. Yeah, it creeps me out, too. I don't like all this darkness. Is that what scares you about it?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I live in the dark."

"Oh. Well, what is it?"

"It – I'm not really sure. Many people have been in here before. I feel it in my bones. I smell it in the air. Can't you smell it?"

He sniffed. The air was dank and rotten. "What do you smell?"

"Death."

= =

"So, your family made you go, pretty much?" Monica asked, crossing her legs, and leaning back in the chair.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"That's gotta be rough."

"I guess." Monica and Chandler had been chatting in the truck for a little over an hour and a half, and she'd finally come out of her shell. He'd made her laugh on several occasions, and he thought at one point he'd even seen her eyes sparkle. Chandler leaned forward from his spot on the floor and smiled. "So, what about you, huh? What's your story?"

She sobered. "What do you mean?"

"Like – I dunno. Why aren't you suicidal? Or, like, giving up? You're fighting. That's really unusual."

She furrowed her brow. "Wha – do you want me to go throw myself into the fence?"

"No, no!" He put his hands up. "I mean – I guess – what I'm trying to say is – it's just that –" he stuttered, then stopped himself and took a deep breath. "I mean – what's keeping you alive? What are you fighting for?"

Monica fell silent, deep in thought. She looked up after a moment. "I'm fighting for love."

"Love?"

"Love."

"Whose love?"

"I – I don't know. My friends, my family, I guess."

"Your mother and father?"

"I don't know. I don't know if – if they're even alive. I guess – I guess I'm fighting for my brother. But, I don't know if he's alive, either. Nor my husband."

"Your – your husband? You're married?"

"Yes, his name's Michael."

"Oh, so that's why..." His voice trailed off.

  
"Why what?"

"You've called me 'Michael' before."

"Really?" Monica covered her mouth.

"Yeah. So, you think he's still alive?"

"I hope he is."

Chandler concealed his wandering thoughts. "You love him?" he asked.

"With all my heart."

He smiled. "Well, he's a very lucky guy."

"Thanks," she reciprocated, "what're you fighting for, Chandler?"

"I'm fighting for love, too."

"Oh?"

"But not quite the same thing."

"What's yours, then?"

"Well," he began, "have you ever fallen in love with someone before you met them?"

"Not personally, but yeah. I know what you mean."

"It was like that. I was in love with a woman that I knew only from my dreams."

"So, you're looking for her?"

"That was the idea. But there's more – just a while ago, I met her."

"You met your dream woman?" 

"Exactly. But, I get the feeling she doesn't like me. Plus, she's – well, she's taken."

Monica chewed on her lip. "Hmmm... does she belong to this camp?"

"Yep. It's also illegal to carry on love affairs with prisoners. 'Course, no one does anything about it – that's why the officers get away with it, but I'm so afraid of doing anything about it. I don't want to make anything worse."

"Does she know about it?"

"She doesn't know the way I feel, no."

"Does she know you?"

"Yes, we've talked before."

"Why don't you tell her?"

"Because she's taken!" Chandler looked at her as if she'd gone mad.

Monica was nonplussed. "When has that ever stopped true love?"

He started to respond, when there was a tap at the truck's back panel. "Chandler?"

"Joey?" He asked.

"Yeah, it's me!"

Chandler and Monica both regained their former identities – their 'camp' identities. "Come on in."

Joey pried open the doors, and climbed on the truck. He held rags on his hand, and he offered them to Monica, who took them gratefully. Without thinking, she stood up, and the jacket she was wearing slipped off her shoulders. Joey and Chandler averted their eyes as she pulled on her clothes, and Joey gave his friend a look of inquiry, which Chandler met with a shake of his head. Joey nodded, and they turned around to address the situation.

"So um – how is everything?" Joey asked, shifting awkwardly.

"Fine. Just fine. Mon?" Chandler glanced at the tiny woman, who nodded.

"Good, good. Listen – uh --" Joey scratched the back of his head. "Kip thinks – uh – that you two – that – that you two – uh – hum – that you –" He brought his hands together in simulation, and they understood.

Monica spoke up. "We didn't –"

"I know," Joey interrupted, "so you're going to have to lie if you want to see each other again. But I'm supposed to take her back, by Kip's orders – so I'm gonna wait outside." He took two steps towards the doors. "I'll give you guys a minute alone." He shut the door behind him.

"Um, Monica?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you – um – do you _want_ to see me again?"

She considered a moment. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Chandler broke out into a smile. "Wonderful!" he laughed, reaching out and taking her hand in his. He realized what he'd done, and nearly let go – but her eyes were locked with his – and instead, he kissed her knuckles gently. A smile dusted her lips, and she blushed, color reaching her face for the first time in weeks. Chandler took the biggest risk he could think of, and pulled her to him. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest. He held her close, and they broke apart wordlessly, just a moment too soon.

In complete silence, they exchanged promises to meet again, and prayed the day would truly come.

= =

Rachel squinted into the darkness. In one corner of the room stood an SS officer, scanning the room intently, and she squinted a little harder, trying to make out who it was. She'd learned the faces of several officers, knowing their habits and behavior towards prisoners helped her when it came to learning how to act in front of them. Some allowed more free time than others. Some scraped larger portions of soup into their bowls. But most importantly, some of them only killed on certain occasions. Those were the ones to watch out for, because one never knew when they would strike.

The officer locked eyes with Rachel, and triumph swept across his expression. He smiled maliciously, and Rachel closed her eyes, hoping she could avoid the inevitable if she pretended she was asleep.

"Hey there, little one," breathed the officer, when he'd reached Rachel's bunk, "I know you." He brushed his fingertips over her face, and behind her ear. "Wake up, won't you? Open your eyes."

Rachel's eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up at him with fear and hatred. But what she noticed was that he mirrored her expression. Was there fear in those eyes? Those dark, cold, merciless eyes also sheltered frailty?

"That's a girl," he whispered, "come with me. We're visiting the dentist again. Do you understand?"

Rachel nodded timidly, and the officer grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, and pulled her out of her bed. She whimpered in pain, her stomach clenching and twisting, and her foot caught the arm of Monica, who had been sleeping almost peacefully.  

She was instantly jerked awake, but she said nothing, as her mind comprehended what was going on.  She looked up and into a pair of desperate, hopeful eyes – Rachel's eyes. And she met a pair of foul, sharp, venomous eyes; a pair which she did not recognize, until she saw the face in which they rested. His name silently trilled off her lips, and she chanced her luck, waiting until they left the block to tiptoe out of the block after them.

= =

They'd entered the truck behind block fourteen, just as she and Chandler had earlier that day. But she knew for sure, that this meeting was not going to end as gracefully. With a quick step into the shadows, she was able to dwell in the darkness, the voices from within the steel walls faint but coherent.  She strained her ears. Someone was crying.

"Please – please don't."

"Why? Why not? You took it the last time."

"This time is – different."

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

"No, Kip."

"Bitch!" He barked, his patience diminishing. "Did I give you permission to call me by my first name?"

"No, sir."

"That's better. Now – why is this time different?"

Silence. 

"Answer me!"

Monica heard him slap her.

"My baby! Please, sir – my baby!" Rachel sobbed.

"What baby?" Kip's harsh voice was eerily calm. Monica slid to the ground, her arms around her knees.

"My – my child."

"But – the last time I brought you here, you had never – you were a –"

"Yes, sir."

"So, the child is –"

"Yes, sir." And with a hushed voice, she added, "the child is yours."

"No. No, I won't believe it." There was panic in his tone. "You couldn't be. I – I'm – no." He took a long, shaking breath. "This child shall not be born."

"What?"

"You heard me. Lie still."

"NO! STOP IT!" Rachel screamed. Objects clattered to the ground, and Monica, outside, clutched at her own flesh, silently crying, and listening to the events within.

"COME HERE!"

"NO! LEAVE ME!" She let out another scream, and a breathless groan, "LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME –"

There was a sickening thud – and a strangled cry.  Rachel choked, and gagged, and fell silent. Monica clapped her hand over her mouth, her tears still streaming down her cheeks.  She slinked back into the crevice underneath the truck, and collapsed onto the earth, the silence more overwhelming than the screams were a moment before.

The doors swung open, and Kip crunched to the rocks below him.  He staggered forward, and Monica tilted her head to see him trudge away... with Rachel's fragile, limp body slumped over one shoulder.  She stared harder, and saw that Rachel's hopeful eyes were open – cold and grey now, and she had the remnants of blood drying on her cracked lips.

Two lives lost in a single second.

Monica's thoughts could not comprehend the horrors she had to face from one day to the next. She dug her nails into her skull, willing her mind to wake her – but her nightmare was real.

And as the clamor of cold steel enveloped the pungent stench of death in the hollow darkness, the truck behind block fourteen held another secret in its depths.

_How can I pretend that I don't see_

_What you hide so carelessly? _

_I saw her bleed_

_You heard me breathe_

_So I froze inside myself_

_And turned away_

_I must be dreaming_

_We all live_

_We all die_

_That does not begin to justify you_

_It's not what it seems_

_Not what you think_

_No I must be dreaming_

_It's only in my mind_

_Not in real life_

_No I must be dreaming_

_Help you know I've got to tell someone_

_Tell them what I know you've done_

_I fear you but spoken fears can come true_

_We all live_

_We all die_

_That does not begin to justify you_

_It's not what it seems_

_Not what you think_

_No I must be dreaming_

_It's only in my mind_

_Not in real life_

_No I must be dreaming_

_Not what it seems_

_Not what you think_

_I must be dreaming_

_Just in my mind_

_Not in real life_

_I must be dreaming..._

= = = =


	13. Confession

Dawn

By Monnie

_What's a girl to do with this? I'm not quite sure. Scary the way you change your mind about writing while you're in the middle of it. Anyway, while I'm rambling on about things that you probably know nothing about, go read. This one's **very** short, but it's passionate. And review if you don't mind my askin'._

_This chapter is dedicated to Danielle, to whom I owe a lifetime of love and gratitude for her mere presence in my life._

= = = =

**Chapter Twelve – Confession**

"Do you realize that three seconds from now, that could be US?!" Monica shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I know. And I don't understand exactly what happened, but I'm gonna kill that bastard."

"Chandler, you can't!"

"Why not?" He stood up fiercely. "He killed Rachel's baby, and then he killed HER! I think the spineless murderer deserves a bitter taste of his own medicine!"

She caught his arm as he turned to leave the cabin. "Chandler, they'll kill YOU, too! Don't you get it?! This is REAL! I can't let you go get yourself killed! I – I just can't – I won't! I won't watch you leave."

"Why does it matter to you?" He angrily stepped out, and Monica followed him, deathly afraid of being seen.

She grabbed his arm again. "Because, Chandler – because I care a whole lot about you."

"What?"

"I do! I really do!" she drew in a shaky breath, and let go of his arm, stepping down the front stair of the ruddy cabin. "We've only known each other for, what, two weeks? I've talked to you every single day since that night behind the block – since Rachel left."

"That was three weeks ago, actually. And we've known OF each other for three months."

"Right, well - we've only talked once up until the night after it happened."

"So?"

"SO?!" she mocked bitterly, "So, I don't understand why I care so damn much about you! I don't WANT to care about you!" she stooped onto the bottom step, her head in her hands, sniffling quietly. He joined her, and she continued quietly. "Christ alive – I've never been able to connect with anyone like I've connected with you. And it scares the living daylights outta me."

"Why?"

"For fuck's sake, Chandler - I'm in a place where someone I love could easily turn on me to save their own skin! Why wouldn't I be scared?! Why aren't YOU?! I mean – I didn't even connect with my own HUSBAND the way I've connected with you. And it's on every level. I can't stand it!"

"Monica, why are you behaving this way?"

"I don't know! I wish I knew!" She clenched her hands into the strongest fist she could and hit herself on the head, hoping something would shift and help her understand. "I – I don't know what I feel anymore. My thoughts – my mind – my WORLD is upside down! Do you know what that's like?! It's not something I want to have to deal with! I'm – I – of all things I dreaded in life, certainly falling in love was not on that list!"

His expression softened, then his mind caught up to him. "It doesn't – wait, what? You're falling in love?"

"I – I don't know! I think I am!" She stood up and began to pace nervously about the gravel, feeling thoroughly numb, and unable to stop the tears she'd fought back from pouring out of her. "The feelings are all there – those loving, longing feelings that I've only had with one man in my life. And – I can't deal with it – not here. Chandler, do you understand me at all? This is me going out of my mind! I'm stuck in a nightmare, caught in darkness, and the light of the morning has been teasing my sanity! I keep thinking that if I go to sleep, I'll wake up, and be in my bed next to my love, and we'll be safe from all this! But I never wake up, Chandler! And I fear – I fear that if you feel anywhere near this intense about your own life – then you're drowning too. How can I stand here, in front of you, and demand you to accept what's not even real to me – when you're suffering, too? How can I, as a human, who gave her heart away, stand to lead someone on, when she's not even sure that she was leading in the first place?"

"Monica – you're making no sense!"

"I KNOW!" she sobbed, and fell to her knees. "I can't stand this! I want my world right side up again! I don't want to feel like I'm falling in love with the man who should be my enemy! I don't want to be here, Chandler! I don't! I'm holding on to the desperation – the false hope that somewhere, somehow, my husband is alive, my brother is alive – and I'm still falling. I'm still crying, still hurting, still loving. Still whispering to someone in the dead of night in hopes that the sun will rise. Still allowing myself to be drawn in by my very own thoughts – the thoughts that tell me I'll live to see the day my own child smiles at me. The thoughts that tell me to press on – to not give up. I want to give up, Chandler!"

"No – please don't give up. You can't give up!"

"That's what I mean! I'm so intoxicated by this – this life – this place – it's gotten hold of me. I can't give up. This place, this hall of shadows – it speaks to your soul – and it gives you a taste of the light, so you want it so badly you keep on bleeding for your freedom. But it never comes." She paused and he stared at her, overwhelmed, saying everything and nothing at all. She looked him in the eye, and softly, innocently, she whispered, "Chandler... does the dawn haunt you, too?"

= = = =


	14. Steadfast Devotion

Dawn

By Monnie

_I dedicate this chapter to me. Because I've never gotten a fic dedication to me. Wow, I'm so honoured, Monnie! Oh, please – it's nothing! No, really, I mean it - you should take the rest of the week off. Really? Yeah! Okay! _

_I'm sooooo sad._

_So, I'm sitting here at my sister's softball game, just writing this down in a notebook – and listening to music. It's quite peaceful, though I think the woman next to me just took off a whole hour of my life with all the cigarettes she's smoking, and I don't think Elizabeth's team is winning, not to mention the fact that I've had (accumulatively) four spiders crawling on me in the past hour, but hey - the breeze is nice._

__

= = = =

**Chapter Thirteen – Steadfast Devotion**

****

Swept over by all of her emotions, Monica's world had seemed to dissolve. She hardly slept, her work became effortless, or at least, easier than it was before, and she couldn't grasp why. Phoebe was even thinner than normal – and she would have to stop every few minutes to cough atrociously during the work day.

"Are you hungry?" Phoebe asked, the night after such musings.

Monica looked at her strangely. "What kind of question is that?"

"Okay – I mean, I'm full. I can't finish this. Do you want any?" the tiny blonde held out her soup bowl, and was met with suspicious eyes.

"There's no way you could possibly be full, you've barely touched it. And since when was anyone EVER full around here?"

"Monica!" Phoebe snapped, "just take the food, okay?!"

"Not until you tell me what you're up to."

"No! Monica – eat this soup or I'll throw it on the floor."

"Fine! Okay – I'll have it. Sheez." She took the bowl and ate it slowly, the taste bitter and cold, but more filling than she'd even expected. After she'd finished, something dawned on her. "Phoebe...?"

"Hmm?" she brought her head up from the table's surface.

"Where were you in line today?"

"Um, towards the front, why?"

"Are you sure?"

"No. My memory's not that great. Why?"

"Just wondering." It was deducible truth that the fullest bowls were right where the middle met the end of the line. The SS placed the workers with the most potential in that part of the line. But why would Phoebe, of all people, get such a helping? She looked around her; there, by the end of the line, was a very familiar SS officer. He was smiling pleasantly, his eyes were obviously on Phoebe, and there was a look of both triumph and admiration shining through them.   
  
Monica kept this knowledge to herself.

= ="I've never known a guy who liked to hug."   
  
"Not even at all?"   
  
"Nope. Well, I mean, Michael is the exception –"  
  
"As usual."   
  
"Right – but, even he only hugs me when I'm sick, or sad, or leaving."   
  
"He didn't hold you at night?" Chandler shifted his weight beneath her, and readjusted his arms around her waist, gently.   
  
"Not really."   
  
"Do you know why?"   
  
"Yep."   
  
"Can I ask?"   
  
"Nope." She laughed, and leaned back to put her arm around his neck, and he looked at her.   
  
"Aww, all right."   
  
"C'mon, you know I'm kidding." She paused to gather her thoughts. "Well, he's never been an affectionate man in public – he always thought that those kinds of public displays of affection showed that the couple had no self-respect, therefore were not to be reckoned with. But at home, he loved to kiss me. He'd always put his hands on my shoulders and just – press his lips right up to mine. And I'd be the one who held him instead – and he'd always end up capturing my lips with my face in his hands, and, sometimes – we'd –" she stopped mid-sentence.   
  
"What is it?" concerned, Chandler leaned forward to look at her.   
  
"Well, I've never told anyone this, but – he'd always hold me, after we'd – try. For children, I mean."   
  
"I only figured."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Well, yeah – I mean, I don't think I've done it enough, obviously, to be able to use the word 'always', but when I decide to have children with someone, I don't think I'd be able to fall asleep without her in my arms."   
  
"Aww, that's so sweet."   
  
He chuckled, and shrugged. "I guess."   
  
"No, I like a man who's affectionate."   
  
"No kidding?"   
  
"Yeah. I think kissing, and touching, and just being so incredibly near to someone, physically, is the most intimate thing you can do in any kind of relationship."   
  
"I completely agree. I just wish I'd had more of a chance to experience it, you know?"   
  
Monica looked at the position they were sitting in. "What do you call this?" she asked, pointedly.   
  
"You know what I mean, Monica."   
  
"Yeah, I do. But why would you think that way?"   
  
"It's just the simple truth."   
  
"But the truth is horrible!"   
  
"I know, but even if it's horrible, it's still reality, and we still have to deal with it."   
  
"So, you're just gonna give up? Is that it? You're gonna let this place kill you? You're gonna die just like the rest of them?!"   
  
"That's how all of us are going to die, Monica. Don't you get it? Why don't you just accept that, and move on?"   
  
"Because, I'm Monica Geller! I'm a real person! But I'm different from them! I'm a real person – a real person with a real soul." She stood up awkwardly to defend herself. "I'm gonna be the girl who lives, not the girl who dies. I'm going to live every day like it's the best day of my life, even though I know that my people are suffering. I'm gonna help show everyone that we can only get our revenge if we have the hope that we'll live to see that they pay their price!" Monica took a long, deep breath, tears slowly falling, as her voice shook with rage and passion. "Because, Chandler – because I HATE them. They took my mother, they took my father, they took my best friend, and for all I know, they've taken my brother and my husband, too. And I am going to live. I'm going to live to make them ALL regret the day they could not tame my love – my fire, that burns for them eternally, here – in even the deepest recesses of my heart."   
  
Her words were silenced with a kiss.= =Kip glanced across the campground. The sun was setting, and still neither soldier had returned. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, the dust of bones irritating and painful to his vision. Taking another glance at the musty blue sky, the towers of chimneys began their evening cycle, and he wandered past the cabins to block fourteen.   
  
There was a great deal of whispering going on behind it. Curious, Kip deliberately proceeded to block sixteen, so he could observe the goings on from afar, without being seen. Slowly, carefully, he leaned his head round the corner.   
  
The truck's metal doors were open, and three people stood around it. Their uniforms revealed them as two officers – undoubtedly his. But who was with them? A prisoner?   
  
One of them put his arm around the prisoner... was that a woman? The soldier kissed her on the lips – that was definitely a woman, and the officer kissing her was violating the code, the policy. Who would do that? Surely not the obedient one...   
  
Kip slipped away unnoticed.= ="Look, I – I'm sorry I startled you," Joey said apologetically, kicking at the stones beneath him.   
  
"No – it's nothing. We weren't doing anything." Monica explained.   
  
He chuckled. "Didn't look like that to me."   
  
Both Chandler and Monica blushed furiously, and Chandler spoke quietly. "Yeah, it'd do you well not to mention that, okay?"   
  
"I know. Don't worry."   
  
Monica smiled at Chandler warmly. "When can I see you again?"   
  
"Whenever you'd like."   
  
"Ah – um –" Joey interrupted, "I can't promise that, guys. I know Kip is suspicious as to where we are right now anyway, so I don't think I can let you do this again for a while. I'm sorry. But I'll try. Really, I will."   
  
"That's all right." Monica nodded, "how am I going to get back to my cabin?"   
  
"We'll escort you. But – please, Monica – keep your head down. Don't look at anyone."

"Why not?"

Joey smiled at her naïveté. "You have a gleam in your eye. Not many women here have that."

"What do you mean? I – I have a gleam in my eye? How? Wha – I'm confused."

"Mon, have you ever seen a woman very far along with child?"

"Y-yes, I have."

"Did you notice anything about her? Her presence?"

"Well, she seemed more radiant. Like, she was overflowing with pride."

"She seemed to glow, right?"

Monica drew her lips into a smile. "Yes. Yes, I believe that's the perfect word for it. But, what does –"

He interrupted her. "You have that same sparkle in your eye. The mark of a woman in love. Now, let's get going, shall we?"

= = = =


	15. The Soldier's Sacrifice

Dawn

By Monnie

_Welcome to (roughly) the third to last chapter of this story. I'm trying so hard to wrap things up without making it seem rushed, so, if you notice anything that you think I should pace differently, let me know, because I'm at a loss for how to bring it to a close and still do it justice. Oh, and there will be an epilogue on request. Just a heads up; I'll remind you on the last chapter anyway. There's a line in this chapter that the Mondlers will recognize. And one all of you will probably recognize if you've seen any good episodes. ;) PS guys, I got 6 reviews on the last chapter. And that's rather sad, methinks, considering I got 17 on the chapter before that. Oh please, why am I complaining? I have over 150 reviews! I'm a freakin' genius! Or...not._

_This chapter is dedicated to __Coco__ Arquette – happy birthday! And to her MOMMY, whose 40th birthday is in two days. Holy God, this month rocks._

= = = =

**Chapter Fourteen – The Soldier's Sacrifice**

"Shh – don't say anything."

"I won't!"

"You just did!" Chandler kept his hold on the back of her neck gently, while Joey walked on the other side of her, casting sideways glances in every direction to make sure she wasn't being watched. She felt like a prisoner of war. In a way, she was. But this wasn't what she had in mind.

All around her, the dust blew harshly up from the ground, reminding her of what she'd lost. It made her think about things she'd never stopped to think about since she'd arrived at the camp. Mostly, she thought about her life back in her hometown, Tarnów; her life with Michael. It was only two years ago that they'd been engaged to be married. Things felt so simple then. So happy, and so right.

She lived in a little cottage on ¯ydowska Street, with her mother and father and elder brother, attending the same synagogue as everyone else in the eastern part of the city. Until that fateful day, of course. She said her prayers every day. She helped her mother prepare for the Sabbath. She got to hold Michael's hand when they walked to the corner market together. She studied the Torah; her mother taught her how to milk the cow and chase foxes out of the hen coop with a broom. Why did things change? Why would anyone want things to change, when things were so peaceful?

But, as fate decided, everything WAS to change. It was almost as if – as if she knew something would happen that would change the way she lived each day. She knew it the very day that she found out what happened to the synagogue; the Schutzstaffel came in and destroyed it. Everything but the prayer room. Completely returned to the ashes from whence they were built.

Back then, she didn't know it was the SS that did that to her town. But now – now she knew exactly who were responsible. And she hated that she herself was under the control of those criminals. And there was nothing she could do. This place – this hell – she couldn't have even imagined it. It wouldn't even comprehend the intensity of this place, let alone predict that she would be imprisoned in it.

= = F l a s h b a c k [ N o v e m b e r 1 5 t h , 1 9 4 2 ] = =

"Monica? Monica, where are you?" Judy Geller's nasal tone rung clear as a bell across the yard, to where the young girl was resting, safely nestled in her boyfriend's arms.

"Oh, I have to go to dinner," she sighed, reluctantly sitting up in the frayed rope hammock. He did not move to let her from his grasp.

"No, no – stay," he mumbled lazily, pulling her back towards him. She whined and nearly gave in, as being pressed up against him for so long kept her warm, but still, she resisted with a heavy sigh.

"I can't, Michael. I'm going to get in so much trouble!" she gave him a kiss on the forehead, and started to leave, but he still had a firm hold on her arm.

"Wait!" He was instantly awake.

Judy called again. "Monica! Come inside, your supper is getting cold!"

"What?!" She asked him, impatiently.

"Marry me."

Her jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"

"Monica!" Judy distant voice sounded very annoyed.

"Marry me," Michael repeated, "I've been thinking about asking you for some time now, and I think I'm ready. I mean, I think WE'RE ready."

She blinked several times. "You serious?" A smile flickered across her face.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I love you, and I wanna spend my life with you."

"I love you, too." She whispered, helping him to his feet, lacing their fingers together.

"Monicaaaaaaaaa!"

"In a MINUTE, mum!" she shouted over her shoulder, and looked back again.

"So," Michael said softly, "do you want to? To – get married?"

"I um – I think I – I think I – do..." Monica surprised even herself.

"Really?"

She smiled crookedly. "Yeah! I mean, it's a little scary, but... maybe it's right."

"Oh Lord – this is incredible – um – uh –" he fumbled around in his pocket for something, and pulled out a golden chain, holding it up to show her the pendant on it: a small, white dove. "Well, I don't have a ring – we're not allowed to buy anything in the city because of all the stationed officers or something like that – and I couldn't find a long enough chain for a necklace in our house – uh – not to mention it's rather old and I think it might be gold PLATED instead of –"

"Michael," Monica interrupted gently, placing her hand on his cheek, "it's perfect." She smiled and let her palm slide from his face to his chest, where she held out her wrist, and he hooked the chain around it.

"It'll – uh – it'll protect you from people with ill intentions," he admonished her, blushing and kicking at the dirt. "And in-laws," he added with a grin.

She giggled and admired the tiny charm. It looked slightly worn, but more from time than misuse. She held it up to the sky. Dangling freely, it caught a ray of light and illuminated the dove's contour, shining brilliantly back into her reverent eyes. She felt her breath leave her at the sight; she was filled with an emotion towards the man in front of her. An emotion she suddenly felt she knew so well yet hardly recognized at all.

"Thank you."

"There's no need."

He stole a kiss and pulled her into his arms, keeping his fiancée close to him as they started up the grassy knoll for a supper of surprises.

= = P r e s e n t [ F e b r u a r y 2 2 n d , 1 9 4 4 ] = =

Monica brought her hands to her wrists, rubbing them gently as Chandler and Joey silently led her along. Those days, for all she knew, could have been a dream. Her world was turned upside down the night those officers closed their firm grips around her arms, leading her and her family out to the waiting boxcars; out to their death.

Death.

That's what seemed to surround her entirely. There were bones on the ground, blood on the walls, ashes on the ceiling. The abhorrent stench of burning flesh consumed her breath. Her heart was severed deeply, scarred from the shrieks that tore through her in the night. Some were in her mind; the rest were right outside the block. Her family was dead to her. One of the only friends she had left was killed naught but three feet from her. The love of her life – she wasn't sure if he was the love of her life anymore. She didn't know if she was the love of his life anymore, either, or if he had a life in which to love her.

The hope she clung to was the memory of her parents. They, at least, were safely nestled in her thoughts. The grief she had for them was merely that of an orphan – missing them. She did not dwell on whether or not they loved her, or if she loved them, or if they knew she loved them. She knew they understood. Even in the boxcar on the way over, just the way they were looking at her – they knew. They had to know. She and her mother hadn't gotten along very well, but those final hours...they were different from all the rest.

= = F l a s h b a c k [ O c t o b e r 5 t h , 1 9 4 3 ] = =

Monica peered out the window. The rain was pouring down, and some of the passengers were sticking their hands out to catch some to drink. The smell was overwhelming, and just the freshness of the breeze, nipping at her nose through the cold, was more satisfying than anything she could get now. She inhaled deeply, and began her shallow breathing techniques, savoring the clean air she had in her lungs, and headed back towards her family. Michael and Ross had gone to talk near another opening in the train, and Jack was dozing lightly, leaning back against the surface nearest him. Monica shifted uneasily, realizing she had to face her mother single-handedly again. It was never an easy task, dealing with her irreparable behavior.

It was at that moment that she noticed Judy watching her intently, her eyes filled with anguish and despair. Monica imagined it was the same look she wore in her own eyes.

"Mother?" She asked, hesitantly.

She was snapped from her reverie. "Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

Judy shook her head dismissingly, her hand going to her cheek. "Of course I'm not all right, Monica. I don't know what's going on, and you know how I get when I feel uninformed."

Her daughter nodded in agreement. "I know. But mom..."

"Shh – I'll be fine. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you okay?"

Monica wanted to lie to her. She wanted to tell her she was fine, so that she wouldn't have to endure the look of dissatisfaction from her that she knew so well. But she couldn't. The shiver she felt run through her gave her away. She couldn't lie to her. Bitterly, she shook her head, fighting back tears. With one shuddering breath, she whispered to her the truth. "I'm scared."

But before she could bear to look up at her mother's expression, Judy had pulled her into a hug. Not a warm, or a gentle, or a soothing hug, but one that told her she wasn't ashamed of her daughter's honesty. One that voiced what words could not express. Overwhelmed, Monica's tears spilled freely.

"I know," she whispered, "I'm here for you, Monica. Really, I am."

= = P r e s e n t [ F e b r u a r y 2 2 n d , 1 9 4 4 ] = =

He grinned cheekily when he saw them approaching, and strode in their direction, careful to look nonchalant, in case there was foul play.

When he was close enough to recognize their faces, he instantly felt a tic beneath his eye start to spasm; his skin crawled. She was the woman in – no. She looked familiar, but it couldn't have been her. Could it? He stared harder. That was definitely her.

Second Lieutenant Tribbiani put his arm on her shoulder, and she waved to Bing, smiling. What the...?

He stormed across the grounds, all in a fit.

= =

"You!" Chandler heard someone yell across the vast haze. He whipped around to meet the emerging silhouette of his superior. "What're you doing?" Kip barked, staring down Monica and Joey.

"I was taking this prisoner back to her block!"

"Right. Whatever. Bing – you take the girl. Tribbiani, you come with me." Kip gestured towards the clouds of dust, and barreled into it and out of sight. Joey soon followed, leaving Monica and Chandler with their mouths agape.

Joey eventually caught up to Kip, but had to take two steps for each of his monstrous ones. Kip was practically purple with rage, muttering obscenities in German, and clenching his hands into fists. They reached the cabin, and entered. Joey took a seat, and tried to appear indifferent. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kip's bed and his bag. There was something lying facedown next to it, and he wanted to know what it was. But now was not the time.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Kip spat.

"Going on where? What is it?"

He laughed sardonically "You know perfectly well what I mean. Back behind the block, I saw what happened. I saw the way you two were behaving towards that woman."

"You do it all the time!" Joey argued, pointing his finger accusingly.

"The hell I don't! Look, Tribbiani, there's a difference between sex, and kissing, and I know what I saw. And that was against the policy. Now, listen here –"

"So there's a policy against kissing a Jewish girl, but there's no policy against raping one?!" Joey was practically clawing at the bedding beneath him.

"Shut up, Tribbiani!" Kip backhanded Joey across the face, and heard his head slam into the wall behind him as he recoiled. With a strangled cry, the second lieutenant managed to bring himself back up, and he stopped talking.

"Now, I want you to listen, and listen good, you got it? One of you kissed that prisoner naught but fifteen minutes ago, and they're gonna pay for it. Who was it? Huh?" He grabbed Joey by his jaw, causing already lost blood to flow from Joey's damaged nose. "WHO WAS IT?!" He shook him roughly, and Joey broke his head free.

"It was me, sir."

"Eh?" Kip stopped at the unexpected answer.

"I kissed the prisoner, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to handle the situation."

"That's repulsive." Kip spat at the ground.

"But treating a human being like an animal is perfectly understandable?"

"You sicken me." He turned his back to him. "I cannot believe I ever thought you had potential."

"What makes you think that I –"

"MAURER!" A voice called. Kip looked up towards the door. "LIEUTENANT MAURER – REPORT TO BLOCK TWENTY ONE AT ONCE!" The voice called again. Kip turned around, his eyes narrowed.

"This is not over," he threatened, and crashed out of the cabin, trying to gain control of his temper.

Joey looked to his left, and reached out his hand.

= =

"I don't know – one of the officers, Kip, actually, came by and took the Lieutenant away with him. It scared me, because about twenty minutes later, I heard a gunshot, and I haven't seen him, or Chandler since then."

"That's scary."

"What isn't these days?"

Phoebe nodded, and repositioned herself on the straw. "Are you going to see him again?"

"I don't know." Monica sighed, and her prayers were answered. Through the doorframe walked Chandler, a piece of parchment in one hand, and a menacing cane in the other. He looked at Monica, and she saw he had tears in his eyes. He gestured with his head towards the door, and Monica nodded quietly. He walked out of the block, and several minutes later, a tiny pair of feet padded softly after him.

"What is it?" She whispered, joining him on the stair behind the high wooden walls.

"I think you should have this." He handed her an envelope, and she took it, warily. Watching his eyes intently, she opened it, and peered inside. Out came a scrawled note, and a photograph. She picked up the photograph and studied the face on it.

"Is this...?" She answered her own question as she flipped it over, and read the faded handwriting on the back. Her hand reached her mouth quickly, and she looked up into Chandler's eyes.

He was watching her, a pained expression on his face. "Read the letter." He admonished her, and she nodded solemnly, unfolding the paper with shaky hands. Her tears formed and fell as she took in the words she was reading.

> _To my best bud,_
> 
> _This may very well be the last words I ever say to you – as I think my fate will be sealed any moment now, but I have to give you this piece of advice: get out. Take Monica, and – and Phoebe, and get out of here any way you can. Can you do that for me? I'm done for – it's no use worrying about if I'm okay or not. Just make sure that you're never EVER seen with Monica, or Kip will know I lied to him. He already suspects I tried to cover for you... _
> 
> _I know you love her. I know she loves you – and I don't want something so wonderful to be lost. I already knew I wouldn't make it out of this place alive, but you – you have what it takes to get out of here. You have something worth living for. And just knowing that you'll still have that chance for love... for me, that's something worth dying for. You've taught me what it's like to have a friend in a place where I thought no good could find me. I want you to go on living. Fight for her, __Chandler__. Fight for love._
> 
> _Joey_
> 
> _PS – Please give the photograph in the envelope to Monica. I found near Kip's belongings. I think it might help her solve the mystery of what happened to her husband._

"No," Monica breathed, her mind swimming, "Kip, he – Joey –" She clutched the photograph in her hands, unable to stop her choking on her words, "and he k- he killed my–my–my-my-Michael..." Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed in a heap in Chandler's arms. Without another word, he rocked her softly, fighting his devastation.

Joey had given up his life for Chandler's sake. He'd sacrificed himself for the chance that his best friend would leave this place alive. And he wasn't going to let him down.

= = = =


	16. Something to Live For

Dawn

By Monnie

_Welcome back folks, I'm home from vacation and settled in, ready to wrap this bad boy up. I know, I know, you'll miss it and everything like that cough but I think it's right. **I'll be writing an epilogue, but I will not, I repeat, I will not post it unless I get favorable responses for me to do so.** And if I were feeling daring, I'd say I have to get 20 reviews saying so, but I'm not today, so, let's just **shoot** for twenty, shall we? Please? Pretty please? Leave a review... tell your friends to leave a review. Tell your friends to tell their friends. It's like a chainletter, but better because I get some feedback out of it! Now, what can be a better reward than that?_

_Mmkay__, the song I use in this chapter (which I discovered after I'd started my story and fitted perfectly, thank you very much) does **not** belong to me, but to Evanescence, or Amy Lee, or whoever wrote it. Thank you, and boa noite._

_I had half of this whole thing written and saved on my computer, but the fucker that is Microsoft Word somehow lost it. I am this gestures close to typing everything in notepad just to spite it. Anyway, if it's not as glamorous as you thought it would be, it's because I'm trying to recall everything from memory._

_And I'm dedicating this to Chris again, because of how patient and loyal and awesome she's been even though she's secretly cutting me out. ;) But I'm scrappy, so it's all good._

= = = =

**Chapter Fifteen – Something to Live For (Before the Dawn)**

_Meet me after dark again and I'll hold you_

_I want nothing more than to see you there_

_And maybe tonight_

_We'll fly so far away,_

_We'll be lost before the dawn..._

"So, he gave his life up for the two of you?"

"Yeah."

"That's courageous of him."

"I know." Monica looked down at the faded photograph she held in her hand, and let out a deep sigh as the lump in her throat grew larger, her own days starting to number themselves. Her thoughts couldn't stop circling back around to the very same question: Was she next?

= =

Chandler kicked the wall for the eighteenth time, wondering what would go first; his foot or the wall. He assumed the wall would win, but it was still worth passing the time to make up for the pain his very best friend put himself through. He pounded away with his fist again, and again, and again, until his skin broke and he left bloody handprints on the cement. As he watched the stains dry and flake away with the harsh wind, he let out an empty sob for all that he'd lost.

But it was only empty because of what he'd gained.

Somebody called his name around the front of the block. He cleaned himself up quickly and strode around to the front, to see an uptight young soldier at the front door. Chandler was saluted by him, and with an air of cynicism, Chandler asked him his name.

"Steinham, sir. Private Michael Steinham."

Chandler froze. "Wha – _Michael_ Steinham?"

"Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." He folded his hands behind his back. "Tell me something, Private. Have you ever been married?"

"Yes, sir."

"Aha – and have you ever cheated on your wife?"

"No, sir." He responded with a note of suspicion.

"Good, good. Are you still married?"

"Sir, I don't think this –"

"Just answer the question," Chandler snapped.

"No, sir. I'm not."

"Very well. You had something for me?" He promptly changed the subject. The private snapped to attention.

"Ah yes, sir. It's this." He handed him a clipboard. "I don't know what it's for, and if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you anyway. But my superiors told me to inform you that you're working tomorrow's shift before you'll be relocated."

He lost his breath for a moment.

"I'm – I'm being relocated?"

"Yes, sir. That's all I know."

"What-what is –" he looked pointedly down at the clipboard he held.

"Like I said, I don't know." The private shrugged, "but just between you and me – it looks like some sort of employment list." He gave Chandler a lopsided grin, and then shot back up into militant posture, saluting him, and striding away. Chandler stumbled into the cabin and collapsed onto his straw bedding, his hands running through his hair.

"I'm being relocated?" He repeated, still unable to believe his own lips.

= =

"Leaving?" Monica repeated, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Mm-hmm, to a steel mill just outside the town."

"How-why...?" She merely blinked at him.

He shook his head. "I wish I knew."

She sighed and lost herself in thought for a moment. "Are you the only one going?"

"No, there're tons more going – there's a whole list here." He showed it to her.

"All officers?"

"No, most are prisoners. Phoebe is on the list."

Monica looked up. "Am I?" The look of pain and anguish that crossed Chandler's eyes told her what she needed to know. "I see," she whispered, and Chandler slipped his arms around her.

"I don't know what to do, Mon."

"Well, neither do I!" She suddenly became very bitter. "I'm the one losing my love and my best friend, here. Let's just focus on anything but that, shall we? I'm the one being left in the cold, alone, to face the music by myself. Doesn't that matter? Or are _your_ problems just too significant? God forbid you have to leave all this shit behind." She spat.

Chandler grabbed her by the arm. "Mon – Monica, listen to me!"

"No! I don't care what you have to say, you self-centered --"

"MONICA!" He took her shoulders and shook her gently. "Listen! I know you care – and I care about you –and I care that I have to leave you behind alone. I feel sick at the thought of you not being under my care, but you have to listen! There's nothing I can do! Do you want me to go out and get myself killed for you to have the chance to go? Is that what you want?! Do you want me to sacrifice everything for you? Because God willing, I'll do it. I LOVE you, Monica. And if you can't see that, then you're blind to the truth; or maybe you just can't see at all."

Monica broke down and fell into his arms, her pain pitifully expressed through her tears.

= =

There was a certain uplifting emptiness that Chandler felt when he sat down at those small tables. He flipped through the clipboard and stared at the names in front of him. What was this list for? He looked through everything. Every single name. He could not find Monica's name anywhere. But why? Why wasn't she being relocated? Whose doing was this?

Crowds and crowds of sticklike prisoners slithered from their blocks, clutching themselves, and shaking as they approached the lines of people. They whispered their own name, and were accepted or denied to board the nearby train. People he recognized were shunned; cast away from this chance for freedom. He saw the devastation in their eyes. He knew he had that very look in his own, and he knew what the cause was for it. There he watched them turn away. Most were taken by the SS down to the ovens after that. These deaths, though, weren't just hundreds killed at once. They were taken.

One by one by one.

= =

She had to break the news to her somehow.

"So, you're not going to be going with me?" Phoebe's eyes filled with fear for the first time since she'd told her sister's story.

"No, sweetie." Monica took Phoebe's hand and squeezed it tightly, fighting back her own surrender. "But Chandler will be there with you."

"Chandler's going?" She looked up and saw Monica nod encouragingly, though she looked like it was forced more than anything. She looked devastated. "Why aren't you going with him?"

"Because I'm not on the list."

"But permission never stopped true love, did it?"

"Life and death puts a pretty big stopper in love."

"Not true love." Phoebe corrected.

"I wish I could go with him, Pheebs – I really do. But it's just too hard – there are so many risks with me sneaking out without leave. I just – have to face it, that's all."

"You're giving up?" She asked, incredulously, "Just like that, you're giving up? After all you two have survived together? That's ridiculous!" She shook her head.

"C'mon, Phoebe, you believe in karma, right? That's what's happening here. Maybe this is just a sign that Chandler and I weren't meant to be."

Phoebe shook her head yet again. "You've got it backwards. I'm a firm believer in karma, you have that part, but I'm an even stronger believer in fate. And I think you two are destined to be together, and that means you ought to be fighting. I see it in your eyes, Monica. You love him."

She took a long, shuddering breath. "I do."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

= =

Two older men.

A sick, weak woman.

Eight children.

Three more women.

Five nearly lifeless men.

One orphaned child.

Why such poor workers? Families, couples, groups, children; the sick, the weak, the old – they all boarded this train to their better chance at life, and Chandler would be leaving with them. But his better chance at life was staying put where she was.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe they weren't being shipped off to freedom – maybe they were being led to their death as it was. Maybe death _was_ their freedom.

Chandler shivered in the heat of the day.

= =

"Take my name."

"WHAT?!"

"Take my name." Phoebe repeated, after they'd sat in silence for many thoughtful moments. She looked her friend in the eye, stone still.

Monica had still not grasped the concept of her offer. "And do what with it?"

"Go with Chandler."

Her breath hitched. "Phoebe, I –"

She put a hand up to silence her. "Don't say you can't do it. I know you can."

"But I –"

"No, Monica." Phoebe interrupted her sternly. "You can. You love him, and you're going with him."

"I can't leave you behind, Phoebe. That's just – it's just not fair."

"No, it's not. But you can't do anything about it."

"But, you're the one who's supposed to go, Phoebe. You deserve to go."

She rolled her eyes, and took Monica's hands in hers. "Don't you get it? I'm telling you to go. You're not going to change my mind. Listen to me. You have more reason to leave than I do. The love of your life is going that direction; don't you wanna be the one beside him? You've been lucky enough to make it this far. Why would you give up and separate now? I don't have anything going for me there, or here, or anywhere. I'm dying, baby. Don't you see it? I've barely got enough strength to get out of bed in the morning. But _you_, Monica, _you _have a reason to fight. Someone worth living for. And you're gonna live. I just know you're gonna live. That, just that chance is something worth _dying _for." She took a long breath. "I finally get why Joey did what he did. Now's my chance. Let me do it for _you_. Let me be that savior I've always wanted to be, for _you._ Let me help you live, Monica." She paused. "Let me – let me help you _love_."

She could do nothing but weep and clutch her friend's hands as she made the choice of a lifetime.

= =

"Emilian, Cyryl." The man mumbled.

Check.

A woman's voice. "Markus, Lucja."

Check.

"Leoda, Prakseda."

No check. Turned away. These cries were becoming faint in his ears.

"Wita, Witus."

Check.

"Buffay, Phoebe."

Check.

Phoebe...?

Chandler looked up and met two ice blue eyes. Those didn't belong to anyone but...

"Monica..." His mind screamed at him, and he knew his expression softened. He watched her put a finger to her lips, and pull her cloak tighter around her.

He nodded, and checked the rest of the list with a smile on his face.

= =

"Welcome to the mills! I am your employer, Schindler. I'm sure we'll speak at some point." He put his hands behind him and gestured towards a large building. "We have hot soup waiting for you inside. Your beds should be turned down and warm for you by the time you're finished eating." The tall businessman spoke with a smile on his face. He looked genuine enough. "And another train with workers from our nearby Auschwitz will be arriving very shortly."

"Hey," a young man elbowed the man next to him, "you've got a sister in there, right?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes, yes I do."

"Maybe she'll be on the next train."

"Maybe..."

Ross Geller closed his eyes and said a prayer for deliverance.

= =

The boxcar was ice cold, but he didn't care. He was going to see her again. He didn't know how, or when, but he was going to see her.

Sleeping on the floor of the train, a ruffle of golden brown hair caught Monica's attention in the pale light, and she sought it out, entwining her fingers with his for dear life.

Dear, dear life.

She cried what tears she had left to cry, mourning the people who were not as blessed and fortunate as she to live this long. All night she grieved. For the men whose wives were stolen from them, and had no one to hold in the twilight. For the women who left salted stains on their wooden beds for their unborn. For the elderly couples who laid among the rancid flames to save their sons and daughters. For the children who were lied to and led away from their families; the families who knew and understood the truth that their last goodbye was really their last goodbye.

For the millions of final words, and final breaths, and final moments.

For the heroes fallen to bring these hands together in the dark of night.

= = = =


	17. Epilogue

Dawn

By Monnie

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, nor do I own the song 'May It Be' by Enya. I wish I did.

_Here's the epilogue as requested. And even though I only got 19 of the 20 reviews for the last chapter, I'm still inclined to post it, cause, well, I wrote it, and I don't want to put good words to waste. Plus, I didn't say 19 was a bad number. In fact, on a scale from one to ten, ten being the dumbest a person could look...  
  
_

_Review if it moves you. moves you Now review. Go._

_I dedicate this chapter, this **final** chapter, to Ezika. My loving wife of a year and four months. _

= = = =

**Epilogue**

_May it be an evening star_

_Shines down upon you_

_May it be when darkness falls_

_Your heart will be true_

_You walk a lonely road_

_Oh, how far you are from home_

_Mornie__ utúlië (darkness has come)_

_Believe and you will find your way_

_Mornie__ alantië (darkness has fallen)_

_A promise lives within you now..._

= =

"Could you get the bread from the oven, dear?" She pointed into the kitchen, a smile on her face.

"Sure." Her husband strode past her as she set her knitting next to her and tried to stand up. The smell of fresh rolls wafted into the family room, and Monica paused to breathe it in. With careful steps, she walked into the kitchen behind him and to the stove, ladling the soup from its pot and into their bowls. She swayed uneasily to the table and set them down in their places, running her fingers over the clean cloth napkins and across the wood-finished surface.

As Chandler brought their basket of bread over, and set it down, he looked up at her warmly. "You okay?" He asked, slipping his arms around her stomach, caressing it with his palms.

"I guess," she replied, "I just don't feel all that well."

"If you need anything, you know I'm right here." He whispered, dropping butterfly kisses on her neck. She nodded against him and tensed, putting her hands on her husband's.

"Do you feel that?" She asked, leaning back against him.

"Feel what?"

"She's awake."

He hugged her tighter, rubbing her stomach affectionately again. "So she is."

"Mommy!" Tiny footsteps padded clumsily down the stairs, and a little brown-haired boy bounded into the room.

"Michael, there you are – oof!" She staggered backwards when her son ran into her, and let out a little chuckle.

"Is dinner ready?" He chirped, knowing the answer.

"Yessir it is! Have a seat." She played, and leaned once more against Chandler's chest as he kissed her on the cheek and helped her to her seat.

They broke their bread together and sat to eat, conversation light and peaceful.

= =

When dinner was over and the dishes were cleared, they started outside.

"So, what was your favorite thing about today?" Monica asked her husband and son.

"Well, I –" Chandler began, but Michael interrupted him.

"I found a FROG today, Mommy!"

She gasped in amusement. "You DID?"

"Yeah! It was THIS BIG!" He held his arms across as far as they could reach, as he bounded out in front of her. Chandler took her hand and led her to the porch swing, where they sat side by side and rocked gently, admiring their son recall his eventful day with grandeur and excitement.

"And so I jumped by the creek and tried to reach into the water to get him and then he hopped away!"

"Oh no!" Monica giggled, one hand resting on her swollen belly, and the other squeezing her husband's thigh as he glanced at her lovingly. She felt him looking at her, her cheeks warming, but she kept her eyes on Michael. "So then what did you do?"

"Well, I – I chased it down the creek for a little while, and I almost fell in!" He sidestepped and waved his arms around, mimicking his near miss. "And then I sat really still, and I got down real low..." He demonstrated for them. "And I looked that little frog right in the eye and said, 'I'm gonna catch you.'"

"Uh-huh, and did you?"

"Well... no. But I tried and got really, really close!" He turned around and pointed to a damp brown spot on the side of his trousers. "And I got this mud patch on my britches an' all to prove it!"

"Michael Joseph!" Monica stood up too quickly, yanking a handkerchief from Chandler's pocket, and wet it on her tongue, turning her son's head to take the flecks of mud off his neck. "You are going to need a bath tonight, young man."

"Aww, but why?"

She let out a flabbergasted laugh. "Wha-why? Because you can't go to bed with mud on your neck and on your britches, that's why!" She rubbed his skin a little harder. "Besides, we're going up to your uncle Ross' tomorrow for the day, and you gotta look your best."

"Okay, okay!" He waved her away with his hand, and she took hold of it.

"Don't you do that." She playfully put his fingers in her mouth, and smiled up at him. Her lip then immediately curled, and she took them out.

"Eeyeugh!" She stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Didn't you wash up before dinner?"

He blushed. "Whoops."

"Ewwww." She nearly spat at the ground, and rolled her eyes, standing back up again. She glanced sideways at Chandler. "I'm gonna go get some flowers from the kitchen and uh – wash my mouth out."

She disappeared into the house without another word.

Chandler stood up and walked with Michael off the porch and out to the garden, where, in a far corner, stood three clean, white crosses.

"Michael, do you know what today is?"

"No, Daddy, what is it?"

"It's the anniversary of your mother's and my freedom."

"Freedom? Why, were you in jail?"

"Well, sort of." He sat on the earth beside his son, nearly looking through him. "You see, your mother and I were in a place where we had to work all day long, and we didn't get much food, and people weren't very nice to us. Except, I was supposed to be the person making other people work. But I didn't do my job very well. Your mother and I met one night while we were supposed to be doing other things."

Quietly, from the other end of the yard, Monica was approaching, a bundle of lilies in her arms. She heard Chandler talking to Michael, so she decided not to interrupt them, and listened intently from the edge of the garden.

Chandler continued. "And so, we started to see each other in secret, because we weren't supposed to be talking, we were supposed to be working, and that's when your mother and I started to fall in love."

Monica smiled warmly at this, and took two quiet steps forward.

"And when we were falling in love, a man who didn't want us to fall in love found out about it. And he tried to stop it. But you know what?"

"What?" Michael asked, leaning forward, completely intrigued.

"My friend, Joey," he pointed to the cross on the left, "the man staying in the same cabin as me, he pretended HE was the one who was in love with your mother, and he got punished instead of me."

Michael let out the perfect gasp. "Really?"

"Yep. And then something else happened. I had to go somewhere else, with a bunch of people, on this train to a better place. And my name was on the list of people who got to go, but your mommy's wasn't."

His eyes widened. "What did you do?"

"Your mommy's friend Phoebe," he pointed to the cross on the right, "her name was on the list, but she let your mommy pretend she was Phoebe, so that your mommy could come with me."

"Wow. That's so nice of her. What happened next?"

"Well, we got there, and that's where your mommy and your uncle Ross found each other again."

"Uncle Ross was there, too?" He pulled a face, and pointed to the middle cross. "Is this for him?"

"No, Michael," Monica interrupted, making them both turn their heads back to her, the same expression on their faces, "that cross is there for my best friend Rachel. We met in that place, and she helped me through almost as much as Phoebe did. I loved her very, very much."

"What happened to her?"

"She – she didn't make it out of the place. The same man who didn't want your father and I to be in love made sure that Rachel wasn't allowed to leave."

"He sounds like a mean old grump who doesn't want anyone to be happy."

"That's what we thought, too." Chandler agreed, putting his hand on Michael's shoulder.

"But we made it out, thanks to Joey and Phoebe's help and sacrifices, and that's why we celebrate today, the day we made it out of Auschwitz, that place where they kept us and made us work. That's why we put flowers out here on these crosses, so that we can let the world know that we have a promise within us for them. We promised them, and we promised each other, that we would be together forever, because we love each other so much, and because so many people believed in us enough to give up their freedom and their lives so we could be where we stand today."

"Here with me?"

"Here with you."

He looked once at his mother, and then at his father, and then down at what was in front of him. Monica passed the lilies to Chandler, who moved to lay them on the soil, but Michael took one from the bouquet as he did. With a look of determination, Michael set it on top himself.

"That one can be from me."

He glanced back up at his parents, who were now standing, holding hands and gazing at one another with tears in their eyes. And Monica looked down, her lids brimming, and reached one hand out to pull Michael to her. He gently clung to her, not understanding what his heart was telling him, but knowing that just standing where he was, was enough to soothe the ache of not knowing.

Weakly, Monica dabbed at her eyes, and tried to regain her composure. "Oh, Michael, it's time for you to head up to get washed up for bed, darling."

"What?" He looked up at her, his deep blue eyes confused.

"It's almost dark, and the bugs are coming out. You're not an easy one to give a bath to. Besides, we all have to get up very early tomorrow to visit Uncle Ross."

"What time?"

"About five o'clock. I want to make it early so we can have breakfast over there." Chandler slipped his arms around his wife again, unable to keep from touching their unborn child for long.

"Five o'clock?! But – but that's – that's before sunrise!"

"Michael," she admonished him in a motherly tone, "in this family, it's a blessing to see the dawn."

= =

_May it be the shadows call _

_Will fly away _

_May it be you journey on _

_To light the day _

_When the night is overcome _

_You may rise to find the sun _

_Mornie__ utúlië _

_Believe and you will find your way _

_Mornie__ alantië _

_   
 _

_A promise lives within you now._

= = = =

Fin. xx


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